


If I Could Tell You

by zaan



Series: Unfamiliar Affections [5]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Action & Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Complicated Relationships, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotions, Family Issues, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Internment Camp 371 (Star Trek), M/M, New Relationship, Somewhat Canon Compliant and Somewhat Canon Divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2019-11-29 11:37:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 36,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18222650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zaan/pseuds/zaan
Summary: Garak struggles to overcome his fear of intimacy; a struggle not helped by events unfolding around him.





	1. Breakfast

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone following this series; I couldn't write it without you. Your comments and encouragement mean more than I can say. I can't promise weekly updates, though I will try. I do promise, as always, to finish.
> 
> This fic picks up about a month after the Incarceration of Elim Garak. It takes place after Things Past (but before Rapture), where on the way back from a conference in Bajor everyone is insisting that Odo was a hero during the Occupation for his impartiality. Odo knows better. Haunted by guilt over his failure to investigate a case and thereby condemning three innocent men to death, Odo accidentally creates a mind-link with Sisko and Dax (and in Canon, Garak) that reveals his actions. The end scene is his confession to Kira.

"Rather late, aren't you?" Odo groused.

Garak slid back the chair and settled into his seat.  He extended a contrite nod and withheld a fond smile (which would only irritate the changeling further) over Odo's characterisation of five minutes as _rather_ late _._ "My apologies, Constable," he said politely.  He tucked his napkin into his shirt and arranged his breakfast: scones and fruit and a scalding hot cup of redleaf tea.  "I was thinking about what to take on the trip, and I lost track of the time."

Odo scowled, stabbing his fork into his scrambled eggs.  "Why are you even going?  You're only gone for five days, and it'll take you a full day to get up there and another day to get back.  Not to mention that it's a medical conference."

"Hmmmm, let's see," said Garak, popping a strawberry into his mouth, "Two full days alone with Julian in a roundabout, five full days away from any nagging customers, days spent reading, nights spent ... well.  Not to mention it's a chance to get off this station for a bit."

"And yet you backed out of the conference on Bajor," accused Odo, who'd had to take Garak's place in the debate.

"Ah, yes, a conference on the Occupation – and me the only Cardassian.  That would have been a much better way of spending my time than with my brand new human lover.  _Whatever_ was I thinking? "

"Don't get too comfortable, Garak.  You do remember that you need my permission to go on this little jaunt with Doctor Bashir, don't you?   You're still under probation."

"As long as you remember that if you don't give me permission to leave the station you'll have to put up with me all week," returned Garak, throwing his smile out like a gauntlet.

Odo huffed and shifted his focus back to his food.  They ate in silence for several minutes.  Odo, who had never learned to truly enjoy the experience of eating, finished first and sat watching Garak start on his last scone.

"I thought you hated those things," Odo grumbled, annoyed somehow at Garak's evident enjoyment.

Garak shrugged, wiping crumbs from his lips with his napkin.  "I'm trying to understand what Julian sees in them."  He chewed contemplatively for a moment.  "Sweet," he concluded, "but somewhat lacking in nuance."

"The scones, or Doctor Bashir?"

"Now, now, Odo," Garak tutted, "That's both uncharitable and untrue.  What's got you into such a mood this morning?"

"I'm not in a mood, Garak," snapped Odo, his tone giving the lie to his words.   "Just because I'm not prancing around in love like you are and practically throwing roses to everyone I meet doesn't mean anything's wrong."

Odo could protest all he liked, but Garak had caught the slight flicker of his eyes and followed them to where Kira was waiting in line at the replicator for her morning raktajino.  _Ah._  "Not forgiven yet?" he hazarded.  He knew enough about what had happened to Odo and the others on their return from the conference to guess at Kira's reaction.

It was Odo's turn to shrug.  "She says she has."

"She will.  So will you, for that matter."

Odo's laugh scraped over Garak like a dull razor.  "You think it's that easy?  It probably is for you.  How convenient that must be."

Garak gave no response, merely looking down at his plate and pushing around the crumbs with his fingers.  Odo felt the guilt – he was becoming all too familiar with the sensation – slide into his gut.  He picked up his cup, sipping at the lukewarm raktajino, more to distance the conversation from his last remark than anything else.   After a moment he continued, somewhat bitterly.  "Commander Dax said I should be proud of what I did during the Occupation." 

Garak eyed him guardedly, assessing the olive branch carefully before he relented and answered.  "If you want to come to terms with your past, Odo, you need to remind yourself that it's not the present."

"Don't you think that's a little trite?"

"That doesn't stop it from being true."  Garak leaned forward on the table, trapping Odo with a weighted gaze.  "What else is there, Odo, but to say we've gotten better and not worse?   Tell me, if something similar happened now, would things be different?"

"Of course they would."

"Yes, but why?" Garak insisted.

"Because ..." Odo hesitated, "Because back then I saw Solids merely as ... pieces of puzzles to be solved."  He didn't like the admission, but it was true.   

"And now," Garak said, casting another glance at Kira, blowing on her mug as she approached their corner of the replimat on her way to Ops, "You see – and feel - much more." 

Garak nonchalantly pushed his chair back and stood up, effectively blocking Kira's path.  Finding herself forced to a sudden halt - and barely managing to keep her raktajino from sloshing over the side – she reacted with an angry frown.   Garak conjectured that even with her advanced state of pregnancy she wouldn't hesitate – and might possibly succeed – in taking him down if he gave her half an excuse. 

"Good morning, Major," he said in his most saccharine voice, "I'm afraid I have to abandon my breakfast companion."  He waved towards his empty chair with a gracious sweep of his arm and inclined his head.  "Perhaps you would care to take my place?"  Without waiting for an answer, he gave Odo a brief nod in encouragement and left.

Kira stared at his retreating back, then shrugged and sagged gracelessly but gratefully into the chair. "What was that about?"

"Oh, just Garak thinking he's clever," Odo huffed.

"Forget I asked; I don't even want to know."  She knocked back almost half of her raktajino, then asked, "Why do you even have breakfast with him?"

"I like for Garak and Quark to know I'm keeping an eye on them.  Besides, Garak has sources on Cardassia I don't."  It was true enough, if not the whole truth.

Kira rolled her eyes with practiced disdain.  "If you can trust them – or him."

"I don't."  This was also true.  Odo had never seen trust as a hindrance to friendship.  "Nevertheless, it can be useful."  

"Well, you've got a better stomach for it than I have."  She finished off her raktajino, dropping the mug onto the table.  "I can't imagine what's gotten into Julian - dating him? I mean, I can see Garak taking in someone innocent like Ziyal, but Bashir? Is he an idiot? What is he thinking?"

"Garak isn't totally without merit," Odo said grudgingly.  "He can be –"

"What? Charming? Oily is more like it," she snorted.

"I was going to say kind."

Kira's surprised silence hung between them.  Odo pushed forward obstinately.  "Doctor Bashir isn't stupid; neither is Ziyal, for that matter."

Kira narrowed her eyes.  "So what, you're saying it's okay to be with someone like him?" she challenged, "A murderer?"

"I don't know," Odo replied, stiffening his back defensively, "I suppose it depends on whether a person is to be judged and defined solely by the worst of their actions."

Kira stood up.  "I have to go to Ops.  I'll see you later."

Odo sat alone for a moment, then quietly disposed of his breakfast and headed to the Security office. 


	2. Games

Julian had Garak pinned beneath him.  Flushed and exultant, he grinned down into the Cardassian's face.  "Based on my calculations – and I can assure you I've run through them multiple times – you're at my mercy."

Garak smiled up slyly.  "Have you considered the possibility that that's exactly  where I want to be?"  he asked.

"You want me to believe you engineered your own defeat?" Julian huffed, his voice airy with disbelief.  "Feeling a need to salvage your pride, are you?"

"My dear, what that calculating brain of yours fails to take into account is that numbers rarely tell the whole story. "  

"Perhaps not, but the proof of the pudding is in the eating, as they say."

"I beg your pardon?  Who says that?"

"I do.  It means, my dear Elim, that the success of an endeavour can only be seen in its results.  And – as you can clearly see," he said, face shining with sweat and triumph, "I am clearly on top of the situation."

"Oh?" 

Julian suddenly found himself face down on the mattress with Garak's firm weight pressing into his back and amused laughter drifting into his ear. 

"Now who's on top of the situation, hmm?" Garak asked,  calmly containing  Julian's laborious attempts to dislodge him.  As Garak considered the varied and pleasurable options now opening before him, a deceptively faint but disagreeably familiar sound slipped into the room.   Caught off guard, he failed to repress the shudder that snaked up his spine.

Julian twisted his head around sharply.  "You heard that!" he exclaimed. 

“Heard what, my dear?” said Garak, voice silky and sinless.

"You know what!" he said, squirming restlessly.  "C'mon, let me up." 

Garak relented and sat back on his knees, letting Julian turn around to sit against the headboard with his knees drawn up and his body leant forward, finger wagging pedantically at his opponent.  "You heard Worf's opera.  To be more specific, you heard the beginning of the overture of Aktuh and Melota 8.32 seconds ago – I distinctly felt you react exactly when it started - which is quite impressive given that 19 hertz is barely audible humans, much less for Cardassians.  Your hearing is _much_ better than I'd estimated –" he frowned, "which means I'm going to have to rework my estimates on _all_ of your abilities."

Garak internally chalked up a small but not insurmountable loss in the contest that had arisen almost as soon as their relationship had begun: the careful confirmation and cataloging of each other’s limits through any trick, trap or technique they could conceive.  

Garak had already won, of course, although he kept this to himself.  While it had taken him barely a week to suss out the full range of Julian's abilities, it had Julian nearly three weeks to even be certain that Garak _had_ been genetically enhanced; he remained uncertain of the extent.  Garak had deliberately, strategically, and somewhat randomly both over and under exaggerated his abilities. 

He knew that Julian would figure it out sooner or later, and more likely sooner.  Once on the scent, Julian was as keen as a pig hunting truffles, delighting in the secrets he unearthed.  Not that Garak was going to concede any secret easily.

"My dear, I assure you that I heard nothing.  It's your lack of progress making you grasp at trivialities."  As he spoke, he pulled Julian towards him, nipping his neck.

“Elim Iago Garak, you are NOT going to distract me."

"No?  Even if I do this ...?"

...

It proved an effective tactic.

...

Later, they lay together, Julian with his head on Garak's chest, his fingertip idly circling Garak's chula.  Garak batted his hand away.  "Stop that."

"Why?  Does it tickle?"

"No," he lied.  "It's distracting."

"Hmmm.  Did you know I'm not ticklish?  I think it's to do with my enhancements."

"You're not seriously suggesting that you were purposely modified so as not to be ticklish, are you?"

Julian laughed and started playing with Garak's chula again.  "No, I imagine its more along the lines of genetic hitchhiking, where an allele changes not because it's been changed itself but because another gene on the same DNA chain has been changed."

Garak grabbed Julian's errant hand, bringing to his lips to kiss his knuckles.  "I wonder if that's why my eyes are blue," he said.  "It's a very uncommon colour for Cardassians, you know."  Garak knew very well that he'd always had blue eyes; they _were_ uncommon, though.

"I doubt it would have been allowed," joked Julian.  "Cardassians are far too fond of order and precision, I'm sure they knew exactly what they were doing to you, exactly how much and in what ways they were enhancing your sight, your speed, your hearing, your reflexes ... " Julian trailed off, reflecting on the precise purpose of such adjustments: to make Garak a better weapon, a better killer. 

Garak could guess the track Julian's mind had followed and, to return it to a more comfortable path, flicked him on the nose and said, "You forgot to list my stunningly good looks.  That was also a well-thought out enhancement to allow me to seduce enemy agents.  Did you know I even give off a wide array of species-specific pheromones?"

"Really," Julian drawled.

"Of course.  Among other things.  I'm surprised you haven't figured them all out already, given how logical they are.  Very different from the human approach.  Don't misunderstand - I admit your skills are much more impressive than my own humble refinements – but it's as if someone ordered blindfold from a menu."

Julian snorted.  "Yeah, well, knowing my father that's probably pretty accurate. He wanted the 'best', whether that made sense or not."  The bitterness sharpened his voice.  "It still makes me so angry that he thought he had the right to do this to me, you know?  To change me at such a fundamental level."  He was quiet for a minute, then asked, "Doesn't it make you angry?  You're always so calm when you talk about your enhancements."

Garak shrugged.  "What do I have to be angry about?"

"What do you -?"  Julian pushed himself up onto his elbows and looked down searchingly at Garak.  "Elim!  They did this to you without your knowledge or consent."  He paused as a new and disturbing thought approached him.  "Didn't they?"

"It hardly matters either way. The state has a right to make use of its citizens. Those from good families are groomed for the military or political careers; those from lower class families are groomed for different roles.  That's all."

"That's not right," Julian responded, sitting up and flinging himself back against the headrest.

Garak sighed and sat up as well.  "My dear, once again you're substituting human values for universal ones.  Look at your augmentations; not every species considers them abnormal.  Similarly, not every species considers self determination to be an inalienable right."

"That's not all of it.  Haven't you ever felt ... different ... because of them?"

"Like I'm some kind of monster?  I hardly need the enhancements for that, my dear."

"I didn't mean – " Julian blurted.

"I know."  Garak said, placing a hand on Julian's knee.  He wondered how much truth he was willing to share. It was a sore point between them, and if he weren't careful this could easily turn into an argument.  "Perhaps it's because my enhancements were not as transformative as yours, because they didn't go so far, because they only touched the body, the senses, and not the mind.  I've never felt they made me a different person."

"Were you young when you had them?"

Again, Garak danced with his conscience.  "No, it was when I joined the Order, at the same time they put in the wire. It was one of the more minor things happening in my life at the time, in many respects.  I hardly remember it, to be honest."  

He had been twelve, when Tain had taken him to the clinic.  He had been nervous - he always was around Tain – but he had not protested; protests only brought punishments.  He remembered little of the procedure apart from the panic of the straps being fastened around his wrists and the sharp sting of the needle that put him under.  When he awoke he did not feel different, except for the pain tearing at him.  It had drifted ghostlike through his body for weeks, even months afterwards.  The dread of infirmaries still haunted him.

He came out of his reverie at Julian's words.

"And how old were you when you joined the Order?"

"I'll leave that up to you to figure out."  Garak nudged Julian with his knee. "Shouldn't we shower?"

"Don't think I don't know you're distracting me, or that I won't figure it out."  Nevertheless, Julian got out of bed and stretched.

“Not to be rude, but you're dripping sweat on my clean floor.  Remind me why it is that you call reptiles slimy, again?”

Julian grinned.  “It's your fault for keeping your quarters so warm."  He stretched again.  "Maybe I'll go sit on the sofa and read.”

“Ugh, no, you’re gross.”  Cardassians didn’t sweat; it had been a less than agreeable revelation that humans did.

“Don’t you wrinkle your nose at me.  I'm hardly sweating.”

“Really? I’d hardly need an enhanced sense of smell to notice.”

Julian stuck out his tongue but disappeared into the refresher.  He stuck his head out a moment later.  "Aren't you joining me?"

"I thought I'd soak in the bath.  I'd invite you, but I intend on having a water temperature that's actually comfortable."

“All right, but be quick.  We don't have much time before Jadzia's party."

“Jadzia's –“  Memory hit him like a sledgehammer.  Garak was now a de facto attendee at Julian's friends' parties – of which there were a dismaying number.  He already felt exhausted thinking of the noise and press of people. 

Sighing, he rose and followed Julian, unsurprised but still dismayed at the disaster that always followed in the wake of Hurricane Julian: towels and clothing thrown in heaps, a knocked-over tube of lotion dripping into the sink ... with a sigh, he picked up the sodden, scrunched-up towels, wiped the sink, and extracted Julian's hair from between the soft bristles of his antique hairbrush.

He was Cardassian.  Cardassians expected – even welcomed – sacrifices.  He had always been prepared and willing to make sacrifices to have Julian in his life, but he had never expected those sacrifices to be so unpleasantly banal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea that Garak had been genetically enhanced was introduced in the previous work in this series, The Incarceration of Elim Garak, though you don't need to have read it to understand this work.


	3. The Meeting

"Nnngghh .... wh're y' doing??"

"Sorry, love", whispered Julian as he extricated himself from the bed.  "Early meeting with the captain."  He dressed in the dark and crept out of the room, not wanting to awaken the beast under the blankets.  He wondered again how Garak, urbane and poised, perennially unruffled and unperturbed, could be so deeply, terminally and intransigently grouchy in the morning, barely civil and entirely uncommunicable.

He was also implausibly adorable, with his rumpled bedclothes and tousled hair, although Julian knew better than to mention this.  Early on, he'd offered (to a groggy and grumpy Cardassian) a helpful treatise on sleep inertia and its relation to both grogginess and grumpiness, only to have his speech brusquely stoppered by baleful eyes.  He had, perforce, learned to temper his early morning enthusiasms.

Through trial and (excessive) error, he'd found the best thing was to get up quietly and work on his research until it was time to rouse Garak.  This he did in strict silence, slipping into the room and propitiating the beast with a scalding cup of tea placed as an offering on the nightstand, then promptly retreating.  This approach had multiple benefits: safety (he could approach without getting mauled), practicality (the tea helped wake and soothe Garak), and tranquility (it kept Garak in bed so he didn't have to put up with him).  Garak invariably thanked him later (after he'd emerged from his shower his usual composed and complacent self) and though never admitted nor mentioned, he liked pampering Garak and knew the Cardassian secretly hungered for it.

Not wanting to disturb Garak by banging around in the kitchen at such an unseemly hour, Julian decided to grab breakfast in the Replimat.  He cast a last, fond look at the clawed foot peeking out from under the blankets.  In so many ways Garak reminded him of earth's dragons: stunning and haughty, secretive and suspicious, a well of open charm and hidden danger, guarding treasured secrets – secrets that tempted Julian more than a little.

xxx

Julian got himself a scone and tea from the replicator and looked around for a seat.  The Replimat was busy but subdued, small groups spread out around the room, people reading or having quiet conversations.  Somehow he'd expected it would be nearly empty, his unconscious logic being that if he never came early, no one ever came early.  He noticed Nurse Jabara alone with a book and called out, waving.  She waved back uncomfortably, then somewhat self-consciously returned to her book.  Julian suddenly realised that he was an interloper, disrupting – albeit inconsequentially – the normal early-morning rhythm and routine.

He settled into an unoccupied table and pulled out his PADD.  Although the Captain hadn't mentioned the purpose of the meeting, he considered it highly probable that he wanted to discuss the proposed refinements to the blood screening processes used to detect Changelings.  He wanted to be prepared.  Command had been on edge since the Martok Changeling had been unmasked.  No one knew how many Changelings there were, where they were, nor why.  More disturbingly, if possible, they didn't know how to scan for them beyond laborious blood samples that had to be taken and retaken ... and even that process was subject to tampering and error.

The tea was too hot, but he took a long drink anyway, not minding that the liquid burned his throat a bit on the way down.  He ate quickly as he scanned through the most recent findings, absently breaking off large pieces of scone. 

"Julian!"

He looked up in wonderment to see a perky and perfectly put-together Dax approaching the table.  Julian had left the party at three a.m. and - on less than two hours sleep - was feeling rough despite his enhancements.  Jadzia, on the other hand – who likely hadn't gone to bed at all – was looking fresh and well-rested. 

"Morning," he sputtered, forgetting he had a mouthful of scone and spraying out a fine mist of crumbs. 

"Good morning," Jadzia laughed, brushing a few crumbs off his shoulder as she came up.  "Has anyone ever told you that you're a bit of a mess?" she asked archly.

Julian smiled sheepishly and patted his uniform ineffectually.  "Garak.  All the time."

She settled into the seat across from him.  "And how is your scalier half?"

Julian put down his PADD.  "Still asleep.  It's his fault if I'm a mess.  I had to dress in the dark – I didn't dare disturb him this morning after keeping him out so late.  That was quite a party. "

"Yeah, it got pretty wild when that third freighter crew showed up," she remarked, with an unassuming nonchalance that told Julian that sort of thing and more probably happened at a lot of her parties.  "Did you guys have a good time?"

"We did."  He neglected to mention Garak sourly staring daggers at him for several hours and him ignoring Garak because he'd been enjoying the conversation of a rather striking member of one of the freighter crews.

Jadzia leaned forward, elbows on the table and chin in her hands.  "It's been just over a month, right? So how's it going?"

"Brilliantly," said Julian, knowing that a goofy smile had slipped out and landed on his face.  "It's perfect, really, except -"  He stopped himself, not meaning to have thrown in the qualifier.

"Except?"  Jadzia repeated with an arched brow.

"Nothing.  I mean, well ... it's just ... Garak is not the most forthcoming person I've ever dated."

Jadzia laughed.  "Now there's a surprise.  At least he talks; if I manage to coax multiple syllables from Worf I count it a victory.  They're the perfect pair."  A mischievous smirk followed.  "We should try to get them together sometime."

Julian rolled his eyes.  "Yes, like that would go over well."  He picked up his cup for another sip of tea and realised it was empty.  Putting it back down, he said, "Tomorrow we're leaving for the burn conference, which means plenty of time alone.  I'm determined to get something out of him."

"Don't you mean something into him?"

"Jadzia!" Julian hissed, blushing and looking around the room frantically.

"Relax, Julian.  People _do_ have sex.  You think it's a good idea, though?" she giggled, "Pumping Garak for information?"

Julian groaned.  "Seriously?"

"Well, if you want serious ... be careful.  If you corner Garak, you may not like how he reacts."  She shrugged.  "Just be ready, Julian. You're going to hit a rough patch at some point, like Worf and I did on Risa."

"I _have_ had relationships before, you know."

"Oh?  And how did those work out?"

"Ha ha," he said dryly.  "Thanks for the sage advice, oh wise and ancient one, but Shakespeare already said it: _the course of true love never did run smooth_.  I promise I'll try to be ready for the waterfalls."  He stood up, dropping crumbs.  "I better go, I've got an early meeting with the captain."

"You're not going to the meeting like that, are you?  You're hopeless, Julian."  She brushed crumbs of scone off his shoulders, straightened his collar and patted his arm affectionately.  "There, now you're ready for anything."

xxxx

Julian stepped into Sisko's office.  "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Sisko looked up tiredly and ran a hand over his eyes.  "Yes, doctor. Please, have a seat."

Julian did as instructed and waited, Sisko's dark eyes settling on him uncomfortably.  He fought the urge to fidget or ask questions and merely looked back respectfully.

Finally the captain spoke.  "Are you still taking Garak with you to the burn conference on Mezzan 4?"

Julian frowned at the unexpected question.  "Yes, sir.  We leave tomorrow."  He waited, but when nothing more was forthcoming he spoke.  "Is there a problem?"

Sisko sighed, obviously uncomfortable.  "You know that I trust you, don't you?"

"Yes, sir. I do," Julian agreed cautiously, disliking the way the conversation had listed. 

Sisko nodded.  "Which is why I haven't prevented your relationship."  In fact, he had not merely pretended ignorance, but had openly acknowledged the relationship, even including Garak in his monthly dinner invitations to senior staff and their families.  He had been aware at the time that his actions were, as always, under higher scrutiny.  "However, Starfleet intelligence disagrees.  It's not in their nature to trust anyone, especially now that it appears that this relationship is more than a passing fling...?" He raised his voice in question.

Julian nodded. "Yes, sir, it is."  He hesitated, tension tightly twisting his chest.  "Are they going to put up obstacles?"

"Not yet.  You will be under increased scrutiny. Garak too.  But ... you may need to make a choice.  I'm trying to talk them out of it, but I wanted you to be prepared."

Julian felt hot with anger and humiliation, outraged at the snide and condescending interference.  "I appreciate that, sir," he replied, keeping his voice as calm as he could.

"Besides assuring them of your loyalty, I mentioned that this relationship may be in Starfleet's best interests.  These are troubled times.  Whatever else he is, Garak is useful."

Julian digested the unpalatable remark, a slightly bitter accusation escaping him. "Is that why you've invited him to your dinners?  Not because you want to get to know him better, or because you like him, but because he could be useful?  Because he'd be more willing to help the Federation if he thinks you're his friend? "

Sisko frowned, a reproachful anger colouring his voice. "No, doctor.  I invited him and will continue to invite him as a courtesy to you.  I don't believe for a second that anything would influence Garak's actions except the good of Cardassia – and neither should you."  The anger dissipated, but the voice remained cold.  "Let me be clear.  There will likely be times when Garak's interests align with ours.  When they do, I will not hesitate to use him - nor to sacrifice him for Federation lives or Federation interests.   He's not a member of this crew; he's an Obsidian Order operative, ex or otherwise.  I don't have the luxury of liking him; I don't even have the luxury of disliking him.  It's my job to use him."

"That's all anyone has ever done." Julian said quietly, fixing him with a defiant stare.

There was no response he could make.  Sisko was not foolish enough to attempt empty words to cover the lack of genuine ones.  He merely nodded his head curtly in dismissal.  As the doctor left, back stiff with censure, Sisko found himself resenting the unreasonable burdens of command.


	4. Worries

Garak glanced up (for the fifth time in as many minutes) from the novel that he was attempting - and failing - to read.  The same sight accosted him: Julian sprawled in his seat, eyes relentlessly scanning and absorbing the information streaming past him on the screen, blind and deaf to everything around him. 

Garak managed to restrain a sigh, but not the thought that engendered it; this was not how he had envisioned their shuttle ride.  It was true that Julian had apologised, and that his explanation was reasonable - he could hardly be blamed if, in fact, an increase in workload over the last few days had left him short of preparation time, but ...

Garak shook his head, as much to dispel the doubt as to dislodge the incipient headache that had been gathering in strength throughout the day.  Flashes of colour and pain shimmered in his eyes against the nearly imperceptible flickering of the shuttlecraft's sterile white lights.  He tried returning his attention to his novel, but the words blurred and shifted on the page.  He abandoned the effort and dumped the PADD onto the table with an unnecessary thunk, hoping for a reaction. 

He got none.  Julian remained unmoving and unmoved.  The sigh that Garak had held back finally escaped him; it too went unnoticed. 

Direct action was required.

"How are the preparations coming along?" he asked cheerfully.

Julian gave him a bleary and inattentive smile.  "Oh, well enough.  You can't over-prepare for these talks – there's always someone disagreeing with you if your facts don't support their preferred theory – which is usually their own."  Julian's eyes inexorably drifted back down to his PADD as he spoke. 

"And how long is your talk?"

Julian shrugged but didn't look up.  "Not long, just a half hour.  It doesn't matter, though – the real conversations take place over dinner and drinks."

"Oh."  Garak kept his face and voice even, hating himself a little as he asked, "Will you have any free time at all?"

"It _is_ a work conference, Garak - not a vacation," Julian replied tersely.

Garak's surprise slipped into his voice.  "I didn't mean it as an accusation, Julian."

Julian finally put his PADD down.  He rested his elbows on his knees and ran a hand through his hair as he sighed. "I know.  I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be such an ass.  I'm just ... a little stressed about the conference.  I hate public speaking," he lied, swallowing down the guilt.

Julian pressed his forehead into his hands, not wanting to meet Garak's eyes.  He hadn't told Garak the real reason behind his meeting with Sisko, nor the possible demands that he end their relationship.  He'd said nothing: there was nothing to say, no reassurance to give, no promise to make.  He could not say, even to himself, if he would choose Garak over a Starfleet career.  The question he asked himself constantly was whether it were mere cowardice, if the threat of increased scrutiny and detection were what made him question the plausibility and worth of such a labyrinthine relationship.  The corollary to his doubts was a guilty disquiet coupled with an absurd resentment.

Garak watched him attentively, sorting through a selection of possible responses.  Julian's distress was clear, whatever its real cause, as was his reluctance to share the source of his discomfort.  Garak decided there was little he could do but distract him, so he offered a smile and a suggestive raise of his eye ridges and said, "I'd be more than happy to moderate the discussion.  I'm sure I could ... discourage ... any unwelcome questions."

Julian barked a laugh.  "I'm sure you could – or any questions at all, for that matter."  Julian pushed aside his worries and made an effort at amends.   "I'm sure we'll find a little time to spend together," he promised.  "What will you do while I'm attending talks?"

"Oh, I'm sure I'll find something to amuse myself," Garak smirked.  "After all, conferences are magnets for intrigue and espionage."

"Go on," Julian laughed.  He felt suddenly normal again, waiting to be tangled up in one of Garak's tales.   He reflected on how his brooding had eclipsed all of the things he loved and appreciated about Garak.

"You think I'm joking."

"Well, really, a medical conference?  What possible interest could intelligence agencies have in this type of thing?"

Garak pulled his chair closer and Julian unconsciously leaned forward.  "Oh, you'd be surprised, my dear doctor.  Believe me, a lot more goes on at these conferences than you'd guess.  Some conferences aren't even real – they're just staging grounds set up by one of the intelligence agencies.  Think about it.  The purpose of an intelligence agency is to gather intelligence, wouldn't you say?  What better way than where people from different worlds are gathered in a relaxed setting?  One is always less guarded among one's own peers and colleagues.  Then there are the romantic and sexual affairs; good for blackmail or information or both.  There are those, too, who feel hampered by their homeworld and might consider defecting – where else are they allowed, where else they could be gotten at?"

"And I'm supposed to believe scientists are just standing in line waiting to defect to Cardassia?"

"Not in huge numbers, perhaps, but you'd be surprised at the list -  some very prominent scientists.  In fact, I personally persuaded a weapons expert from Romulus to defect."

"What did you promise him?  Money?  Fame?"

"A new wardrobe – one without a stitch of grey in it – and access to one of our best hair stylists."

Julian laughed, but the worry waiting underneath unseated the amusement.  _Under scrutiny_ , Captain Sisko had said.  "Are there really likely to be operatives there, Elim?" he asked.

"Are you thinking of defecting, my dear?" Garak teased.  "I assure you, you would find neither Romulus nor Ferenginar to your liking."

"I'm serious.  I ... want to know."

Garak gave him an odd look, but answered.  "Almost certainly, doctor.  A medical or scientific conference is not only going to have the best minds in attendance, but the newest discoveries –  medical and technical breakthroughs that may, yes, be used as their inventors no doubt envisioned, but may also be put to ... alternative uses."

Julian reared back, disgust sweeping across his face.  "That's indefensible."

Garak's face emptied of emotion, but the muscles along his neck tightened.  "It's imperative, and don't think the Federation is above it.  You've seen what the collapse of the Obsidian Order has meant for Cardassia.  Tain's hubris may have led to its demise, but he was the reason the Order was as successful as it was for as long as it was."

"Don't tell me you're Tain's advocate now."

Garak remained impassive.  "Just because Tain could be ... unpleasant, doesn't mean he wasn't right."

"He was cruel, which means everything he did was tainted by cruelty."

"You don't know anything about him," Garak said, the warning sharp between them.

"Then tell me."

"Julian –"

"Anything.  It doesn't have to be a state secret or anything, just ..."  Julian let out a breath, unable to voice the plea.  He needed, right now, to feel he knew Garak, or at least to feel that knowing him was possible. 

Neither spoke.  Finally, Garak sighed. "All right," he said, voice uncertain.

Julian waited.  A few moments later, Garak began, his manner subdued, stripped of the pageantry that decorated the tales he told to entertain or deceive.   "He liked to watch the riding hound races.  He went nearly every week, when he could.  Not to the fancy establishments, where it's as much about the connections as the excitement - he didn't go to be seen.  It wasn't for the gambling, though; I doubt he ever made a bet."

Julian listened, mesmerised, his mind grasping at each word, storing each breath of emotion that crossed Garak's face.

Garak continued, eyes resolutely focused on his hands, held unnaturally still in his lap.  "He went there to observe, the people as much as or more than the hounds.  He wanted to test his predictions, to hone his skills.  He would say that the mistake most people made was thinking too simplistically – this hound is fast, that hound is slow – instead of studying how they behaved.  He said the real skill lay in knowing which hound would do well in which conditions, in knowing your weapon and using it well."

Julian closed his eyes.  He had hoped to feel closer to Garak, but instead all he felt was the horror of unsteady ground.  How could Garak care about a man like that?  It didn't align with the Garak he knew – at least, he reminded himself, the Garak he had constructed in his mind.  What did he really know about Garak?  What was in his past that Julian had so casually forgiven?  Was the forgiveness even warranted, or wanted?  "What is it with you and Tain?" he blurted.  "How could you have been so loyal to someone like him?  Admire someone like him? "  Julian winced as the accusations shot sharply from his mouth; it wasn't what he had meant to say, but it was too late to call the words back. 

An angry silence landed between them.

Garak stood haughtily.  "I don't want to talk about it," he said, his tone leaden and unrelenting.  He turned and stalked off to the back of the runabout.  Julian cursed himself and busied himself at the controls; he would apologise later, when they were both calmer.

Garak collapsed into a seat, wondering how – and why – the conversation had so quickly capsized.  He didn't know what to do.  He was disappointed in himself for yielding the truth so grudgingly, and disappointed in Julian for dismissing his effort so offhandedly.   

He tried to meditate, but could not.  His hands shook.  His headache was threatening to overwhelm him now, pale blue rings rippling across his peripheral vision.  He closed his eyes, but the brightness squeezed through, reverberating with the hum of the engines.  He pushed his palms into his eye ridges, waves of light echoing behind his eyes.

He startled to the touch of Julian's hand on his head.  He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there.  He realised he'd been lost inside himself, oblivious to Julian's presence, showing his pain plainly.  Shame burned into him, deep and familiar. 

"Why don't you tell me when you're in pain?" Julian said softly, weaving his fingers through the fine, black hair.

"Because it doesn't matter," Garak said reflexively.  They'd had this fight before too, another stale battle between them.      

"Come on."

Julian coaxed Garak over to the bed, then dimmed the lights.  He returned with a hypospray and a cold rag.  He sat beside Garak, rubbing his neck after he'd injected him and folding the rag across his eyes and forehead.  He used his thumbs to make firm, even strokes on Garak's temples.  Slowly, he felt Garak relax.  His touch smoothed out the gouges left by the rough words, and Julian found that in calming and comforting Garak, he calmed and comforted himself.


	5. The Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grab your seat belts; a bit of a rough ride

Julian swept through the room, kicking off his shoes and littering the floor with his conference paraphernalia: a cheap tote bag, an incorrectly spelled name badge, and an assortment of pointless pamphlets and PADDs he had, for a reason that now eluded him, picked up throughout the day.  A stray apple he'd stolen from lunch to snack on and then never eaten rolled unnoticed to gather dust under the sofa.   He ricocheted from one room to another, prattling on about the (to him) fascinating presentations, proposals and publications he'd heard about. 

Amused, Garak observed his chaotic zigzags.  When he was in these moods, Julian reminded him of a toy riding hound he'd had as a child, a mechanical beast that would leap and bob furiously after being wound up until it abruptly expended its manic energy and toppled over in exhaustion.

10 minutes later a deflated Julian flopped down beside him and gave him a perfunctory kiss on the cheek.  "I don't have a lot of time – I have to meet Dr. S'ieneon for dinner and a blistering argument in half an hour."

"Should I be jealous?"

"He's not Cardassian; I promise it will be a purely platonic argument."  He threw a foot over his knee and rubbed the arch of his foot with a deep groan.  As the damp odour wafted up, Garak gave a showy wrinkle of his nose that Julian observed and complacently ignored.  Julian closed his eyes in bliss.  "Oh, this feels good.  You know, if you loved me you would massage my feet for me."

"I feel I should get points just for staying and not commenting."

"Nonverbal comments count too– don't think I didn't see that face you made.  Mmmm.  This really does feel heavenly, though.  I can't believe how busy this conference is – all of the talks were standing room only.  I've barely sat down all day."

"Poor thing."

"Hmmm."  Julian switched feet.  "What about you? What did you do today?"

"Oh, I read a little, explored a little."  He had hacked into the main computers first.  The endeavour lacking both challenge and reward, he had turned his attention to the private and ship's computers of the conference attendees.  That had produced a rich payoff of petty and personal machinations that, while entertaining, were thus far of little value.

"Did you know there was a Cardassian science delegation?"  Garak nodded his affirmation.  "Anyone you know?"

Garak huffed.  "No, and no one I'm interested in knowing.  I happened to overhear some of their conversation in the dining hall.  It was so dull I nearly fell asleep."  There had been an operative, of course, though it galled him to apply the term to someone so exasperatingly easy to identify.  He hoped she had not been tasked with anything more important than general recognizance.  What could he expect, though?  The military – long envious of the Order – had rushed to fill the void left by the Order's demise with their usual blundering enthusiasm, mistaking impenetrability for subtlety, brazenness for boldness.  It would be collegial to point her in the right direction, but so much more diverting to point her in the wrong one ...

Julian interrupted his scheming.

"And did you happen to overhear any other interesting conversations?"  Like most people, Julian was contemptuous of gossip as an abstract concept but a sucker for it when it came to people he knew. 

Garak didn't disappoint him. 

"You mean like the rumour that Doctors Kildean and Jadairisha are having a _torrid_ affair?"

"No!  Kildean and Jadairisha?!  Ew.  That's like finding out that Quark and Captain Sisko are having an affair."

Garak waggled his eye ridges suggestively.  "Actually ..."

Julian laughed.  "They are not."

"Only their tailor knows for sure."

"Uh huh.  And was that all you discovered today, Elim?"

"Well, I _did_ discover a pair of Starfleet intelligence officers here who didn't register under their own names.  Would you like to hear my theories about why they're here?  What prominent scientist they're trying to seduce over to the Federation?"

Julian bolted upright, sending a PADD crashing off the armrest to the floor.  "Don't tell me you hacked into the computers?" he squawked. 

"I would never _tell_ you any such thing."

Julian stood up and started pacing, running his hand raggedly through his hair.  "Are you trying to get me in trouble? What if someone noticed what you were doing?"

"Really, doctor," Garak sniffed, offended.

"It happens , Elim!"  Julian threw his hands up.  "Everyone makes mistakes - even you! We don't need to give Starfleet intelligence any excuse to  -"  Julian shut off the sentence, but already he could see Garak latching onto the ill-thought words as his focus and gaze narrowed on Julian's guilty eyes. 

"To what, Julian?" he said softly.

"Nothing.  Forget it."

Eyes locked on him, Garak stood and took a step toward him, calm and utterly intimidating.  "You've been out of sorts since your meeting with Sisko.  If I recall correctly – and you can be sure I do - you said you talked about the new blood screenings procedures.  Isn't that right?"

Julian found himself taking an automatic step backward before he registered what he was doing.  Taking a pugnacious step forward instead, Julian used his height to lean over the shorter man.  "Don't you dare try to interrogate me like that," he growled.  "I won't stand for it.  Not now.  Not ever."

To his relief, Garak yielded, bending his head in acknowledgment and apology.  Point made, Julian backed off.  "Starfleet intelligence isn't thrilled about our relationship," he admitted.  "We're both under increased scrutiny and, although Sisko is advocating for us, they might make an ultimatum."

"I see."  Garak sighed.  "Why didn't tell me?"

It was a simple question, spoken neither in anger nor accusation, but it was a stray spark that lit the flames of Julian's stress.  "That's rich.  That's really rich coming from you," he sneered.

Garak blinked.  "Julian, I've never kept anything from you that could affect you."

"How can I believe that, Elim?  How?" he demanded. 

Garak gazed at him intently, as if searching for something, then shook his head. "What is it you want from me, Julian?" 

"What do I want from you?"  Julian was nearly shouting now.  "Something!  Anything!  You don't tell me anything, and most of what you do say is a lie!"  The bastard was calm and unruffled; Julian wanted to shake it out of him. 

"You know more about me than almost anyone does," Garak reminded him.

"Which is to say not at all.  Why does everything have to be a secret with you?  What are you so scared of?"  Julian took a step into his space, hoping to provoke him, but Garak remained stubbornly calm, tilting his chin up defiantly as Julian leaned over him.

"Fear and prudence are not the same thing," he replied.

"No, they're not.  Fool yourself if you want, but you're not fooling me."

"And you're an open book, is that right, Julian?"

There was a shimmer of heat in his eyes that Julian wanted to ignite.  "Aren't I?" he exclaimed.  "I tell you everything!  I'm not some bloody walking enigma tale!!" 

"Oh, yes." Garak hissed, and there was a definite flare of his nostrils.  "You tell me lots of cute little stories and anecdotes, same as you tell Jadzia or Miles or any stranger you meet at Quark's.  If your enhancements weren't illegal, you'd happily talk about what your parents did to you, too.  Anything comfortable, anything that makes you out the hero or the victim.  Nothing real." 

Julian flinched; he could almost hear the scrape of blades as Garak unsheathed his words.  "That's ridiculous," he blustered.

Garak pressed his advantage, pushing in an inch, keeping his gaze locked and his eyes level.  "Is it?  What about your real feelings, Julian?  The ones that don't bathe you in the golden sheen you're so enamored of?  How you still dream of Jadzia.  How you're tempted to sabotage her relationship.   How you doubt our own.  How there's some part of you, however small, that _revels_ in your enhancements."

The accusations, the allusion to his enhancements, sliced deep, and Julian slashed back in a desperate and vicious attack.  "What is wrong with you?  Is everything about you a lie?  Every so-called feeling?  Everything but the manipulation, the assassinations, the torture?"

He finally had the satisfaction of seeing Garak's control fracture and explode.  "You're never satisfied!" he shouted.  "No matter what I do, no matter how hard I try – it's never enough for you, is it?"

"Try?  Don't make me laugh.  When have you tried?  What have you shared that I haven't dragged out of you?  You were more open a month ago than you are now."

"Is that how you want me? Like I was then?  Broken?  Desperate?"

"Genuine?  Honest?  You haven't got a fucking clue how to be a normal person.  You haven't told me one thing about your childhood – not one thing!  You won't even let me give you a fucking physical exam!  Do you know how messed up that is?  I'm tired of this bullshit, Garak.  You want to know what I think about our relationship?  I wonder how I could have been so fucking clueless as to think I could ever be with someone like you!"

It was only after the fire had been so carelessly lit that he saw the devastation it had wreaked.  Garak was silent , not looking at him.  Julian, full of remorse, reached out to touch his sleeve.   "Elim," he said, but it was too late.  Garak was gone and his fingers only brushed the space where he had been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ouch.


	6. Aftermath

Julian's distraction was palpable.  The fight thundered around his head, drowning out the words of his unlucky dining companion.  Their discussion, which had promised much, was a sorry, bedraggled thing that Dr. S'ieneon unmercifully kept beating until Julian finally excused himself at 10:00 – he to return to his quarters, Dr. S'ieneon to seek out the bar, baffled at the bored reaction from his companion and determined to spend more time on his social interaction exercises.

Julian calculated the longest route back to his quarters and walked that at half his normal pace.  The guilt that had sat with him during dinner trailed along beside him.  _Someone like you._   That was the phrase he regretted most: the dismissive reduction of Garak from person to nonentity.

It was not the guilt that slowed him, though.  It was the indecision.  Feeling ashamed of his behaviour changed nothing.  He still didn't know what he was going to do.  All he knew was that he would not go after Garak.  If Garak could not, or would not, bring himself to reach out then the relationship was already a heap of rubble that only needed clearing away.  But if Garak came ...

Ever since his meeting with Sisko, his thoughts and emotions had seesawed, caught between warring fears and desires:  he loved Elim; he was in love with an illusion; he would fight Starfleet; he couldn't let Starfleet look into his past.  Everything was difficult – Garak, relationships, his past, himself.  What tortured him most was that if were going to end things, he must do it now.  It would do no good to mend the cracks in the relationship only to break them into sharper shards on which to bleed later. 

It would be such a simple thing to end it. 

A locked door. 

A locked door, and Garak would know and accept his decision, without protestation or expostulation.  A simple death, but a death nonetheless.  But he had to be sure.  He had to be sure because once locked, he knew, the door was shut and locked forever.  

xxx

Garak had retreated to the dark and quiet privacy of the roundabout.  He tried to convince himself that he had chosen to go there because there was nowhere else to go, and not because it was the obvious place Julian would look for him. 

Following the dictates of his training, his first priority had been to calm himself.  Annoyed with all things Julian, he had eschewed Vulcan meditation and had instead hacked into a score of computer systems to move around and delete random files - a less socially responsible but equally effective and much more agreeable approach.

Calmer, he sat cross-legged with his hands in his lap and focused on slowing his breathing.  He grounded himself, sitting still in the current of his emotions and trying to discern the patterns that underlay the turbulence.  

The first emotion to rise was not guilt – though that was there too, flowing steadily in the background – but disbelief.  The last time he had yelled in anger he'd been a child, when Mila had accidentally broken his mechanical riding hound.  He remembered it clearly – how his little body had shaken with rage and tears, how he had hurled his hurt and accusations that she had done it on purpose, that she didn't love him, that she was mean like Tain.

Tain had overheard – _of course Tain had overhead_ \- and intervened, and though his methods were painful, they were productive.  Excepting when the wire had failed, he'd never lost control like that again.  Until now. 

That Julian's light push could loosen his control from its cage unnerved him but also exhilarated him; though he had known he cared for Julian, he had not realised he had felt so strongly.  The naked depth of his attachment was a salve to his soul – and a knife in Tain's heart. 

As a child, Garak had been prone to strong feelings of attachment, a weakness Tain had unmercifully flayed.  He'd thought that capacity to care gone but realised now that he had hidden it in a sublimation of devotion to the one love Tain could not condemn - Cardassia.   And a devotion, however ill-advised, to Tain himself.

Now he loved Julian, for better or worse.  Worse, because now Julian could hurt him with nothing more than insecurities and recriminations.  He could not blame Julian, though.  What did he say that was not true?  He would not make the same mistake he had made with Tain.  He would go.  He would apologise.

He worried, though, that his repentance would fall short of reformation.  The edges of Tain's lessons dug deep, and the weight of Julian's expectations dug deeper.  And yet he had to try.  If he couldn't learn to open up to Julian, they would spin so far out of each other's orbit that they would become worse than strangers.  He could well fail, but the spectre of failure did not terrorise him - however real its presence.  He knew from hateful experience that he was strong enough to survive, even when survival was barren and bleak.

Decision made, he shifted to practical concerns and reflected on Julian's revelations.  The biggest threat was the surveillance.  Not Starfleet Intelligence - he cared little for their so-called scrutiny or their ultimatums - but Section 31.  Wherever Starfleet Intelligence wandered, they slithered close behind.  Few people in the Federation knew of their existence.  People like Sisko and Julian would not even credit their existence if they did.  But they were real, and they were there.  He did not think there was an immediate danger, nor that Julian was their likely target.  However, he resolved to recheck and strengthen his security measures in both their quarters when they got back to the station - whether they were together or not. 

He knew there was a chance that the relationship was already over.  He accepted it.  He would try, but he would not abase himself.  If the doctor were not receptive, he would salvage his pride.

Garak glanced at the chronometer: 23:00.  Once decided, he did not procrastinate.  He made himself presentable and returned to their quarters. 

He found the door locked.

He stood frozen, heart beating in denial.  He knew he should just go, take it for the clear sign it was.  And yet – it was possible, just possible, Julian hadn't been thinking, had locked the door reflexively. 

Garak hesitated long seconds, then hit the chime.

Julian opened the door, still dressed in his uniform. A faint look of surprise crossed his face.

“You're surprised to see me, ” said Garak .

“I didn't think there was anything more to say,” Julian replied evenly, not moving from the door.

Garak took a deep breath.  "I want to explain."

Julian shook his head.  "I'm sorry, Garak, but I'm not interested in any more lies.  I think you should go."

"As you wish, doctor, but ... could I at least gather my things?" At Julian's hesitation, he said in remonstration, "Come, doctor, you can't expect me to spend the next two days without my pajamas."

Julian, backed into the corner Garak had painted him into, relented.  "Of course not," he said, stepping aside to let Garak enter.  "Wait here. I'll go get them for you."

Julian turned and walked towards the bedroom.

He never made it.

The disrupter blast, set on kill, hit him square in the back.

Garak saw 'Julian' explode into a liquid blast of sticky goo that splattered over the furniture and walls and, to his disgust, the lapel of his new suit.  

Garak tensed for a second attack – another Changeling could be hidden as anything – but the room was quiet.  This did little to reassure him; It could be biding its time, waiting for him to put his guard down – it's what he would do.  He locked down his urge to shout for Julian, to rush to the bedroom, and let his training take over. Eyes aware of everything, listening for the faintest sounds, he methodically swept the room with a low level phaser setting. He worked his way slowly and steadily through the kitchen and sitting area.

He could not help the tightening in his chest as he moved into the bedroom, nor the panic on seeing the still form - nor the relief on seeing the flutter of breath. Still, he restrained himself and checked the rest of the bedroom and bathroom, returning only when he was satisfied there was no immediate threat.

He felt Julian's pulse and temperature and ran his hands over his body searching for blood or broken bones.  Reassured, he scanned him with the medical tricorder Julian always kept on hand.  To his relief, Julian appeared uninjured, merely heavily sedated.  He dismissed the idea of taking him to the infirmary as too risky.  Instead, cradling the still, pale form in his arms, he stood and laid him gently on the bed.  He tucked the blankets around him and kissed the chilled forehead.

Then he went to work.

xxx

Julian awoke to the worst headache he could remember having.   He was groggy and disoriented and faintly nauseated.  His mind was leaden and dull.   The room spun and black spots darted across his eyes. He swallowed and groaned, his throat thick with a coating of something sour and vile.   

“Julian?”   

A cool hand on his forehead, then the cold hiss of a hypospray against his neck.  The pain receded a little, a very little.  He opened his crusty eyes and saw Garak looking down tenderly at him.   Julian blinked, felt the tears well.  "You came back," he whispered.

"How do you feel, love?"

"Terrible," he croaked.  "I ..."  Julian started to process his condition and its probable cause.  Disbelief and a burgeoning outrage roused him.  “Garak?  Did you drug me?!?”  

Garak's amused smile floated into focus.  “No, I didn't, but I applaud you for your suspicions.”  Then the smile faded.  “There was a Changeling, masquerading as you.”

"A Changeling?" Julian sat up quickly.

"Julian, don't –" Garak warned, too late.

The nausea that had been squirming inside him burst out. He tried to stumble to the bathroom but his legs failed him.  He collapsed on the floor, retching.  

He felt Garak supporting him, and he leaned into his arms.  When he'd finished, Garak lifted him back onto the bed.  He groaned, rolling over onto his side and curling into himself.  He huddled there in misery.  Garak returned with soothing words and a warm cloth.  He was changed into clean clothes and brought clean water.  He was given more pillows and shifted into a more comfortable position.

He watched Garak do all this through silent, bleary eyes.  He saw clearly now that Garak loved him.  Words weren't necessary.  It was in the gentleness of his hands.  Gratitude and shame washed over him.  How could he have believed he didn't know Garak at all?  Whatever else was true or not true about Garak, this part of him was real. 

When Garak finished cleaning up, he seated himself beside Julian on the bed and took his hand.  "Don't talk, rest," he admonished when Julian tried to speak.  "You want to know what happened."  It wasn't a question.  Julian nodded weakly.

Garak explained how he had come back to the quarters, his rising suspicions, and the destruction of the Changeling.

"Good thing he didn't know you sleep in the nude," Julian joked weakly.

"He knew a great deal too much for my liking," Garak said grimly.  "However, that was merely extra confirmation.  I suspected something was off as soon as it answered the door.  It was the way you – it – looked at me.  Once I was suspicious, I started looking for other things.  But the biggest clue was its behaviour.  Even if you had decided to end things, you would never have done it so coldly."

"I don't.  Want to end things, that is."

"Nor do I.  I am sorry, Julian.  Truly."

Julian entwined their fingers.  "I'm sorry too, Elim."

"I know we have things to work out, but –"

"But now isn't the time to talk about it," Julian finished.

"No."

"Will you help me sit up?  I'm feeling a bit better."

"If you're ready," said Garak, deftly rearranging both the pillows and Julian.

"Thanks.  That feels more normal.“  Julian cast his mind about, but it came back empty.  He shook his head.  "I don't remember anything except stepping into the apartment after dinner. What time is it now?”

“Just after midnight.  It was a strong sedative.  You would have been out much longer if I hadn't given you a stimulant – that's why you feel so terrible.“

"They were going to replace me," Julian concluded.

Garak nodded.  "They were going to keep you alive, though."  What Garak did not say, what he did not allow himself to think about, was the possibility of other captives kept alive.

"Why?"

He shifted his attention back to Julian.  "Possibly for additional information to pull off the switch, though I think it more likely they wanted you for insurance if the Changeling was detected.  I investigated a few things before I woke you." He neglected to mention the necessary, thorough and thoroughly unpleasant cleaning he'd undertaken.  His tunic was going straight into the recycler when they got back.  "I believe there are – were – two Changelings, possibly more, masquerading as one Naussican."

Julian scrolled through his memories.  "There was a Naussican at most of the lectures I went to today.  They never talked to me or approached me, though."

"It would make sense for them to stay close to you but not get too close.  I have to say, Julian - it was quite convincing."  The flash of the disruptor blinded him again.  He had been as certain as he could have been, but that fragment of doubt, that fear as he pulled the trigger, was still beating in his chest.

"However did you figure it out?" Julian asked, his faith in Garak's judgment more absolute than Garak's own.

"That they're here as Naussicans?"  Julian nodded.  "I assumed that they would need a minimum of two Changelings, one of which would become you.  So I took a close look any single individuals attending the conference who came by personal shuttle and not public transport.  Once I had narrowed it down, I scanned the conference for life signs to compare numbers – the computer didn't find _any_ Naussicans on the station."

"Clever Garak. But I still don't understand why tonight and why they didn't beam me directly to their ship.

"I'll answer your second question first.  Right after we arrived I put an encrypted lockout on the quarters preventing anyone but us from beaming in or out."

"You did?"

"Honestly, Julian, I don't know how you Starfleet officers survive.  It's a standard security measure.  As for why tonight?  I agree the last day of the conference would have made more sense.  That was probably their initial plan, but then we argued – an opportunity they obviously decided to take advantage of."

"So it was ..." 

"Yes." 

Julian felt a fresh wave of nausea at the thought of a Changeling concealed in their quarters, watching them and listening to them.  He saw the same unease reflected back on Garak's face.

"Don't think about it," Garak advised, trying to follow his own advice.  "Do you think you'd be okay to stand now?  Maybe transport to the runabout?  I'm not comfortable staying longer than necessary, not when our only means of detection where Changelings are concerned is non-detection.  I'm guessing there were two, but there may be more.  We're at a disadvantage.  We could both be killed or captured and replaced."

Julian pushed himself to a sitting position.  "I can do it.  Let's go."

"All right."  Garak moved to the computer and starting punching in code.  "I'm going to irradiate the roundabout and then we can beam over."

Julian frowned.  "That's going to damage a lot of systems."

"It's worth it.  There's no way I'm taking a chance on a Changeling stowing away on the return trip." 

Julian watched him work, the implications of the situation swirling in the still sluggish current of his thoughts.  Starfleet had to be warned.  The Founders were moving much more quickly, much more strategically, than they had believed.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprised? 
> 
> We're now finished the first phase of the story and moving into phase two, which becomes slightly more canon divergent as we see what changes result from Garak foiling the Changeling's plot and Bashir not being replaced.


	7. Doubts and Difficulties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode takes place after The Ascent, where Quark and Odo crash land on a planet and nearly die - it's referenced briefly when Garak is talking to Odo.

Jadzia was skilled by now at interpreting Worf's moods. It had not been a difficult skill to acquire.  Worf, in true Klingon fashion, considered the concealing of one's emotions dishonourable.  Despite the ease of her task, Jadzia - who was always observing people's quirks - had taken a particular pleasure in learning Worf's personal idiosyncrasies. 

Take now, for example.  He leaned over the console, hands gripping its sides, scowling and silently spitting out a string of untranslatable Ukrainian curses.  When he was enraged he shouted in Klingon; when he was frustrated he mumbled in Ukrainian.  It was a very human mannerism, one he must have picked up from his adoptive father, and one she found adorable.    

She did not need to ask the cause of his frustration.

For the past two weeks they had been working together to try to locate probable locations of Founder prisons.  It had been Garak's idea.  He had argued, both passionately and precisely, that the attempt to abduct Julian strongly suggested that the replacement of Martok was not an experiment but part of a extensive plan and that the most – perhaps the only – effective means of counteracting that plan was to find the prisons – and find out who and how many individuals had been replaced.  They might even, he had added, find the crew of the ships that had disappeared in the Gamma quadrant.

Garak had convinced Sisko, and Jadzia and Worf had been tasked with the tedious work of sorting and sifting through star charts and long-range sensor data.  

"This is all Garak's fault," Worf groused.

Jadzia took this as an invitation to take a break.  She stood and stretched, hearing a satisfying crack in her back.  "He did offer to help, remember."

"I do not want his help."

Jadzia sauntered over.  She put her arm across his back and squeezed his shoulder, "You're impossible to please."

Worf gave a rumble of contentment and stood up.  "You please me," he said, turning to give her a smoldering look.

Jadzia smiled in promise.  "Mmmm ... I try.   You know, you could please me if you tried to be friends with Garak."

Worf's scowl returned.  "I have enough friends."

"But Garak doesn't."

"That is because he lies and is dishonorable."   

Worf crossed his arms and stood straighter.  Jadzia recognized it for what it was – a declaration of intransigence – and grinned in challenge.

"Yes, but he's fun," she cooed, sidling forward and resting her hand on his arm.

"That is open to debate."

"Well, he might have other qualities you admire."  She ran her fingertips lightly up and down Worf's arm.  "You can't just judge people by their worst traits."

"Garak is incapable of doing anything honourable.  That is all I need to know."

Jadzia patted his arm and returned to her station; it was always better to let Worf win a few arguments before she got her way.  "He might surprise you one day," she said over her shoulder.

Worf leaned back over the console.  "If he does, I will revise my opinion.  Not before."

 

 xxx

 

"I must admit, Constable, I didn't expect to be back here so soon," said Garak, indicating the security office with a sweep of his hand. 

Odo, scrolling through a list on his screen, spared Garak only a brief and unfriendly glance before returning to his work.  "Didn't you?  I did – though admittedly not on this side of the cell's forcefield."

"Very funny, Odo."

"Who said it was a joke?"

Garak sat down and waited patiently for Odo to finish.  When it became apparent that Odo was intent on ignoring him, he began tapping his finger on the desk in a faintly off-rhythm fashion that he knew would annoy the Changeling.

After a few minutes, Odo sighed and looked up.  "Must you do that?"

"If you've got nothing else for me to do, then yes.  I _am_ here at the Captain's request, Odo."

"That's precisely the problem.  You're here at _his_ request – not mine," Odo said, with a belligerent tilt to his chin.

Garak treated Odo to an infuriatingly patient and sympathetic look and said nothing.  Garak had been asked to assist Odo in cataloguing and creating risk profiles for critical assets in the station's defensive systems against a Founder attack or infiltration. 

Odo frowned and pointedly returned his attention to his screen.  Garak leaned forward.  "It's not a slight against you, Odo.  At least, not from the Captain."  It was, of course, a definite snub from Starfleet Intelligence.

"Then what is it?"

Garak considered his response.  "Starfleet Intelligence is unhappy with the good doctor taking up with yours truly and has made oblique threats to his career should he continue in this relationship."

"Go on."  Now gracing Garak with his attention, Odo leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.

"I believe the Captain has suggested that I could be useful in the current preparations against the Founders, given my background, in the hopes that it would lessen their concerns."

"I see." 

"Enough of that, Odo.  Of course they don't trust a Changeling with defending the station against his own kind.  We both know Starfleet Intelligence would happily jettison us both out the nearest airlock, deserved or not.  Let's not give them added reason."

"All right.  I suppose there _is_ a lot of work to be done," Odo said, grudgingly conceding ground.

"I am quite good at this kind of thing, you know," Garak sniffed.

They sketched out a basic plan.  Garak would be responsible for suggesting changes to the current system, Odo with testing the ideas.  They worked for awhile in silence.  It was Garak who broke it, as usual.

"I noticed you've resumed your daily lunches with Kira," he remarked.  Garak assumed that Odo's near fatal adventure was what had brought the good Major around. 

"And I've noticed you haven't been having many with Dr. Bashir," Odo countered.  "From what I hear, things are a little strained between the two of you."

Garak considered the impossibility of lying when conducting a relationship in the public sphere, especially with such a public person as Julian.  "I would classify it as ... tentative, more than strained."

"Hmmph.  Seems the same thing to me."

"What with your _vast_ experience and all."

They went back to their work. 

It was Odo who broke the silence next.

"I could loan you a book, if you like."

Garak tilted a suspicious eye at him.  "Have you found it helpful?"

"Not particularly."

The uncomfortable silence returned.  Garak finished his initial examination of the docking procedures.  He sat back, letting the information swim around in his head, knowing ideas would surface when they were ready. 

"What about talking to Chief O'Brien?"

Garak gave him a puzzled glance.  "About what?"

"About relationships, of course.  I notice you prefer learning by watching others and asking questions.  Chief O'Brien is married.  He seems the logical choice."

Garak snorted.  "He and Professor O'Brien fight as much as Julian and I do – except we mostly do it as fun and foreplay."

"It may be your best option.  I don't see Captain Sisko taking on the role."

"No," Garak admitted with a grin.  He could _not_ see Captain Sisko being at all receptive to such a suggestion.  It did, however, suggest a certain other possibility to him ...

 

xxx

 

Julian and Miles were on their fourth or fifth pint in Quark's.   

"I would have noticed for sure," Miles proclaimed once again.

"Of course you would have," Julian agreed.  He frowned.  "Garak _did_ say it was rather convincing, though."

"Huh.  Maybe to him."

"Now be fair, Miles.  He's pretty observant."

"I s'pose  Still ..."

Topic exhausted, they took a long pull of their drinks. 

"How's it goin' then?" he asked.  "With G'rak, I mean."

Julian gave a lugubrious sigh and slouched forward on the table.  "It's like we're walking on egg shells around each other, not wanting to break anything."

"Like Humpty Dumpty," Miles intoned solemnly.

"Exactly.  Only nothing's broken yet.  So we could still put it back together, right?"

"Right."

 Julian looked up hopefully.  "We haven't even – you know – since we got back.  Do you have any advice?"

"Pfffft.  No. I have not.   _Neither give cherries to pigs nor advice to a fool,_ as my mother used to say."

"That is singularly unhelpful – and I think insulting."

They lapsed back into silence that lasted all of 10 seconds.  "I mean, why does he have to be so secretive and untrusting?" Julian burst out, his beer sloshing wildly as he threw his hand out. " I mean, I know I'm not perfect.  I have faults. I can be too spontaneous for him and a little too pushy when I'm trying to help, but he - "

A loud snort cut the end off Julian's tirade.  He looked around, eyes landing on Leeta who was behind him picking up a tray of drinks from the bar.

"Excuse me?" he said.

"Sorry," Leeta said curtly.  "Just ignore me."

"No, really," Julian said, sliding off his stool.

Leeta looked him over.  "Really?" she said, the skepticism shining through in her voice.

Julian swallowed the last of his beer for courage.  "Yes.  Really."

"Well, you don't really think those are your worst flaws, do you?  I mean, they're just compliments in disguise. You complain that Garak won't open up to you, Julian, but I have to wonder - do you make that easy for him?"

She saw Julian soddenly digesting the remark and took pity on him.  "Look, I have to get back to work or Quark's going to bark like a dog beetle - but if you want, we could talk later?"

Julian felt like a lifeline was being thrown to him.  "That would be brilliant, Leeta, if it's not too much trouble?"  He turned his puppy eyes on.

Leeta patted him on the cheek.  "I never could turn down that face."  As she walked off with the drinks, she called over her shoulder, "But you owe me. I don't get much free time off work, you know."


	8. Advice

"And so I think what I have to do is to decide what exactly I need him to share. I mean, not so much specifics but situations. Give him some clear guidelines, right?"

"Sure, but –"

"I mean, we never talked about what our expectations were, and it's not like he's had a lot of relationships, has he?"

"Well, I –"

"At least I don't think he has, but who knows with him?  Even if he did it's probably not relevant. He's a Cardassian, so of course his cultural expectations are going to be different."  Julian, who had been rambling around the room, paused suddenly and stood staring down at the yellow and orange Bajoran rug in front of his coffee table.  "I should probably reread some of the novels he's lent me ... maybe the Stone Wall?  No, but maybe something like it ..."

"Julian!"

"What?"  Julian started.  At Leeta's exasperated glance he realised his error and offered up a sheepish smile – a smile he'd perfected at the Academy for those all too frequent situations when he'd inexplicably offended yet another one of his many dates.  "Sorry. I guess I have been talking a lot."

Leeta laid a hand on his knee in reassurance.  "That's alright. But you did ask me here for my advice, right?"

"Right.  Of course.  Lay it on me."  Julian sat down on the couch beside her. 

Leeta took his hand.  "Julian, you are an extremely sweet and generous person.  You know that, right?"

Julian's brain suddenly starting computing the horrifying odds that Leeta had gotten the wrong idea and thought he wanted to get back together.  As he replayed his drunken conversation with her in his head he stumbled forward with his usual grace.   "That's kind of you, but I'm not – I mean, you're the one who's – that is, you were always much too good for me and –"

"Sweetie," Leeta interrupted.  "I'm only telling you this to soften the blow of what's coming next."

"Oh." 

"You _are_ kind, Julian, but  ...  you're not considerate."

Julian frowned.  "I'm not sure I understand."

"No," Leeta said, the exasperation catching up with her, an exasperation she'd felt almost daily in their short relationship.  "I'm sure you don't.  Let's take tonight for example.  What should you have done differently?"

"Ummmm," Julian felt like he was failing a test in a class he'd never taken.

Leeta glared and bit back a tart remark.  She explained slowly, as if to a child, punctuating each word.  "To begin with, you ask me over for 19:00 hours - even though we dated for 6 months and you _know_ that barely gives me time to get ready after my shift. You also know I usually eat around then, yet you've been talking for almost an hour and haven't even offered me a drink."

The realisation hit Julian like a fallen brick.  "Oh.  Right."  He tried the sheepish smile again, to less effect.  "Let me get you something now?"

"No, don't bother."

"Right.  Drink?"

"Actually, I changed my mind.  I do want dinner."

Julian, confused by the sudden reversal offered the first item that came to mind – namely, the last thing he'd eaten.  "Ummm ... Sem'hal stew?"

The glare returned.  "I hate Sem'hal stew."

"Right!  Right. I knew that."  Julian scanned through his memories their dinners together, trying to look like he was doing it organically and not watching their interactions on the video screen in his brain.  "Mesto Salad?" he ventured.

Leeta smiled.  "Better."

She waited while Julian replicated the salad, then let him fidget as she ate - secretly enjoying the little bit of power. She wasn't cruel enough to prolong her dinner though. She scooped up the last of the salad and put the plate to one side.  She leaned back with a sigh.  "Thanks, that's better.  I was ravenous as a rastipod."

Julian picked up his glass of water and stared into it, trying not to be mesmerised by the tiny bubbles clinging to the bottom of the glass.  "I _am_ sorry, Leeta.  I –"

"It's all right.  To be honest, I share some of the blame.  I never told you when these things bothered me, and I should have.  I should have been more assertive."

There was an uncomfortable silence.  Julian coughed.  "So," he said, "Kind but not considerate?"

"It's not like you're a bad person, Julian, or that you're not capable of being considerate - it's that you don't take the time. You're so busy trying to solve problems and talk about things that interest you that you don't stop, you don't listen, and you don't think about what the person you're with might be feeling or thinking."

Julian nodded.  "I remember once you told me you wanted to take a course.  I tried to encourage you and you got mad at me. I did it then, didn't I? I didn't stop to listen how you felt about it - I just pushed you to do it."

"It was nice that you were enthusiastic, but – yes, it was also overwhelming and frustrating."

"Not an atypical reaction to my presence," Julian joked, a sad smile twisting at the corners of his mouth.

Leeta squeezed his arm.  "Garak loves you," she said.  "But if you want him to open up to you, you have to think about what this is like for him.  Garak's a private person."

"Even his childhood toys are classified," Julian huffed.

"Well, why do you think that is?"

"Because he's been conditioned to think that way.  He's been told that things like sentiment and feelings are weaknesses," he said, his certainty underlining his words.

Leeta shook her head.  "Julian, lessons learnt that deeply don't come from textbooks.  He's been hurt, hurt by someone he cared about.  Maybe more than once.  And now you're asking – demanding – that he trust you, with the threat of ending the relationship if he doesn't. "

"I would never – " Julian stopped himself.  Isn't that what he had said or implied, if not in so many words?  He felt nauseated by the samples his infallible memory quickly and efficiently supplied. 

xxxx

"So what's this about then?"

Garak bent his head and held out the palm of his left hand, signalling both respect and supplication.  "I'm truly sorry to bother you with this, Joseph."

Joseph Sisko brushed off Garak's apology with a flick of his wrist.  "It's no bother, son.  It's nice to see you."

Garak raised his head and returned the smile bestowed on him.  "And you.  I take it Jake has told you about Ziyal?"  After nearly a month of finangling and an insupportable number of shy glances, awkward approaches and stalled conversations, Garak had managed to nudge the two of them together. 

Joseph's grin bloomed, both in memory of his conversation with Jake and in reminiscence of his own youthful infatuations.  "At great length."

"And I imagine Captain Sisko has been regaling you with tales of the lost Bajoran city?"

"Nothing but."  Joseph settled himself more comfortably.  "Now.  Stop procrastinating and tell me what's troubling you."

Garak shifted uncomfortably in front of the monitor but found himself pinned by Joseph's warm brown eyes.  The patient, kind stare - and didn't he know that trick well – managed to pull the words from him.

"My ...inability to be open with Julian has caused some conflict between us."  An understatement that hardly did justice to the brutality of the fight nor the glacial awkwardness that had followed it. 

Joseph's eyes opened in gentle mocking.  "You are a bit of a closed book."

"You're not wrong," Garak conceded, with a rueful twist to his eyes.  "I want to be more open with Julian but –"

"Do you?"

Garak winced at both the bluntness and accuracy of the interruption.  "You would have made a good interrogator, Joseph."

"It's called being a father."

Garak closed his eyes, running his fingers through his hair before he caught himself – an old nervous tell he hadn't let slip in years.  He straightened up and put his hands in his lap.  "You're right," he admitted.  "I want to be with Julian, and I know I need to be more open with him but – no.  I don't want to, and if I didn't have to, I wouldn't."   

Joseph steepled his fingers together and tapped them against his upper lip as he thought.   After a moment, he said, "You say you want to be _more_ open with him. Does that mean you've shared some personal things with him already?"

Garak nodded tightly. "More than he appreciates."  He shrugged.  "Not enough, though."

Joseph shook his head in firm negation.  "Don't diminish what you did.  It took effort, didn't it?"

"Yes, but -" 

"We all need for our efforts to be recognised and appreciated. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Perhaps."  Garak respected Joseph too much to openly disagree, but inwardly he cringed.  Everything he had been taught – by Tain, by the Order, by his culture – told him otherwise.   Reward existed solely in the silence of service and sacrifice.  "But the problem isn't Julian, it's me."

"In my experience, problems rarely involve one person."

"Yes, but the only person I'm able to control is myself.  Believe me, Joseph, I'm well aware of Julian's flaws – but he's not wrong to ask for this."    

"I didn't mean to imply he was, merely that you need to see this in relation to him, not in isolation.  Why is it so hard for you to share things with him?"

Garak raised his eyes with a theatrical flourish.  "If you haven't noticed, I'm not particularly good at sharing things with anyone.  Quite the opposite."

Joseph pointed a finger at him.  "Don't think I don't know that's a misdirection.  You're more than capable of being direct.  You've been so tonight, you realise."

"That's different."

"How?"

"I don't know,"  Garak felt himself tense mulishly, his lips pressed together firmly.

Joseph waited until it was clear Garak wasn't going to say any more.  "I think, Elim," he suggested gently, "That you have difficulty when you feel it's a requirement, not a choice."

 _Oh._ Sudden understanding broke the dam of his self control.  "Yes.  Yes, you're right.  Julian – Julian pushes.  He pushes and pushes until -" He stopped himself, embarrassed by the rush of words.  He spread his hands and shrugged.  "Well ...." he finished.

"The problem is your faults intersect: he's demanding and you're stubborn . The more he pushes the more you dig in your heels.  It's not going to change on its own.  Now that you know what you need from him, you have to ask for it."

"I ... don't know if I can."

"Then you need to tell him that.  It's not so much what you share or how much you share, Elim – it's that you're honest about what you're feeling."

Garak sighed.  "This would be a lot easier if he just knew what I felt without my having to tell him."

"After you've spun him sideways seven times to Sunday?" Joseph laughed.  "Give the poor man a break, son.  How can he possibly know what's real if you don't tell him?"


	9. Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during Rapture, where Sisko receives visions from the Prophets.

"So Mr. Garak, do you approve of the festive atmosphere?" asked Julian as he joined Garak for lunch.

Garak made a show of inspecting the gauzy streamers, banners and flags strewn across the Promenade in blessing of Bajor's anticipated entry into the Federation.  "Far be it from me to cast aspersions, but I do wish the Bajorans were less enamoured with that particular shade of yellow."

"I like it."

"You would."

Julian grinned, then turned his attention to lunch: shepherd's pie, an old favourite.  He regarded it with satisfaction.  As he dug in, he reflected on how well things were going.  True, their initial attempts at talking had been littered with awkward pauses and fragmented sentences on which they had stumbled, but once they'd both discovered that the other had also been desperate enough (and committed enough) to get advice, they'd relaxed - though Julian doubted they would have progressed so far without Garak taking charge.

Julian had been inclined to think that the epiphany itself was enough – that having realised what they were doing wrong and then talked about it, things would naturally improve between them.  Garak had been skeptical.  He'd insisted that change, lasting charge, required discipline and practice for the formation of  new habits.  So they'd made a plan.  Garak promised to share something personal with Julian at least three times a week but retained full control over what he shared.  Julian was allowed to ask questions with the strict stipulation that they be restricted to the topic at hand.

The system worked for both of them.  Garak liked the structured safety, and Julian liked the reassurance of knowing Garak would share part of himself as well as the spontaneity of never knowing what that part would be.  He'd found that with Garak, even simple details often harboured surprising depths. 

Impressed with themselves, and too far into a bottle of kanar, they had then proceeded to invent an elaborate system of codes ( _not_ a secret language, which was childish) to communicate private thoughts and emotions in public.  They'd begun sensibly enough but soon devolved into an outlandish list of increasingly lewd messages that had inevitably led to a bout of somewhat clumsy but still incredibly satisfying drunken sex.

Remembering that night, and watching Garak lick clean the spoon from his Sem'hal stew, Julian calculated the time remaining in their lunch hour and the distance to his quarters.  He opened his mouth to suggest that Garak 'help him look for his datarod'  when there was a commotion on the far side of the Replimat.

It was Sisko, but not, Julian realised, Captain Benjamin Sisko.  It was Sisko the prophet.  He passed through the crowd and they parted.  He strolled, smiling and grasping the hands that reached out for him, pausing abruptly at times to pronounce a piece of prophetic wisdom to one of his flock.

Julian frowned.  "I should check on him."

Garak waved his fork dismissively.  "He looks fine to me - nearly beatific, as a matter of fact."  

"That's what concerns me."  Although Julian had been able to stabilise the Captain's physical condition, his continued slide into sainthood disturbed him.  He rose from his chair, Garak reluctantly following him. 

As Sisko approached Julian waited in his path, ignoring the affronted glares of the Bajorans.  Sisko, as unruffled by Julian's 'disrespect' as he was by everything these days, greeted him warmly.

"Doctor!  It's good to see you."

"How are you feeling, sir?"

"Tip top, doctor.  I assure you your worries are groundless. I –"  He stopped mid-sentence, attention arrested by Garak.  He surged toward him, the crowd falling back obediently.  He grabbed Garak's arm, brown eyes locked on Garak's blue.  "You are right to doubt," he averred.  "He is waiting for you - but do not hope for more."

Garak stood rigid, shocked eyes clinging to Sisko's already departing form. 

Julian put a tentative hand on his shoulder.  "Elim?"

Garak shook his eyes free and smiled gamely, but Julian could see the concern still hovering behind.

"Elim, what did that mean?"

Garak took in a shaky breath.  "It means Tain is alive ... and that nothing has changed."

 

xxx

 

"He's late,"  said Odo.  When he got no response from the rest of the senior staff gathered around the conference room table, he stressed his point further. "I've never known Captain Sisko to be late for a staff meeting."

"It's not like it's a crime," said Kira, the warning frown settling naturally on her face.

"No, but it's not just that, is it?" said Julian.  He looked around the table, gauging support.  "To say his behaviour has been different lately would be an understatement.  Frankly, I'm concerned."

"But he's in good health?" said Jadzia.  Julian had pored through thousands of records relating to individuals who had had orb experiences to design a treatment for Sisko that allowed him to keep his visions.

Julian nodded.  "Yes, physically he seems fine – more than fine – though of course I'll continue to monitor him."

"There's nothing wrong with him," insisted Kira.  She laid her palms flat on the table for emphasis and leaned across the table toward Julian.  "He's the Emissary – the only difference is you can't ignore it anymore, now that he's closer to the Prophets.  The problem is with all of you - you don't believe."

"I believe," said Julian firmly, hackles rising at Kira's attempt at intimidation, "That I don't fully understand what's affecting him – or how.  Of course that makes me uncomfortable."

"Look," said Miles, reluctantly stepping into the fray, "All that matters is that he's in good health and able to fulfill his duties, right?"

Kira swung on him.  "Are you saying he isn't?"

Miles spluttered.  "No!  I – "

Jadzia interrupted, speaking directly to Kira.  "He's not himself.  The Benjamin Sisko I know relied on facts and evidence – yet yesterday he waltzed into where Worf and I were poring over the star charts, pointed vaguely at a sector, and said that's where we would find the Dominion prison planets – even though there's no other indication that they're in that sector."

"But they could be," stated Worf.

"Of course they could be," said Odo.  "But they could equally well be in a million other places."

"Right." said Julian.  "Statistically speaking – " 

"It's not a question of statistics," said Kira.

Worf snorted.  "You should not expect anything from doctors or scientists."

"What is that supposed to mean?" said Jadzia, defiant in the certainty that the remark had been intended for her.

Worf looked at her critically.  "You think everything can be understood and controlled.  You lack faith," he responded.

"No, I have it – I just prefer to call it by its proper name: ignorance," Jadzia spat back at him.

"That's insulting." said Kira.

"I"m sorry" said Jadzia, who frankly didn't sound it.  "But look at all the things we've once looked on as mystical, or the things we still don't understand."  She threw her arms open wide as if in demonstration of all the unknowable things that existed in the universe.  "What about the Q continuum?  Are they gods?"

"Or the Founders." said Odo.  "We are considered gods.  The Vorta and Jem'Hadar have faith as strong as the Bajorans'."

"On the contrary," said Kira.  "It's not faith at all.  it's genetically engineered brain washing."

"How do you know the Prophets never meddled in Bajoran genetics?" challenged Bashir.

"Because they wouldn't."

"But – "

They were interrupted by a message from the Council debating the terms of Bajor's entry into the Federation.  It was a message that equally solidified the doubts of the nonbelievers and the faith of the believers:  Sisko had interrupted the proceedings to warn against Bajor joining the Federation, then collapsed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit later than usual due to some work commitments - but better late than never!


	10. Dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed that the number of total chapters in the fic jumped from 12 to 18. It's now a story in three sections of six chapters each - enjoy!

Dinner over, dessert consumed, and dishes cleaned, the senior staff and their partners stood in small groups around the Captain's quarters, relaxing.  Superficially it resembled Sisko's past dinners.  Those dinners, however, had not included conversations that were quite so hushed nor glances that were quite so uneasy.   It had only been a few days since Sisko's speech and Bajor's subsequent rejection of Federation membership.  Although most of the tumult around the station had calmed and all the Bajoran and Starfleet dignitaries had departed, the senior staff remained wary.  No one quite knew what to make of their Captain or his transformation, nor to what extent or how permanently it had changed him. 

Julian, sneaking into the kitchen to grab one last rum ball, reflected wrly that at least the Captain's culinary skills were unaffected.  After the Captain's collapse, Julian had rushed to sickbay only to find that he was not needed.  The Captain had regained consciousness almost immediately.  Besides some residual readings Julian had learnt to associate with orb experiences or visions, he could find nothing medically wrong.  All physical traces of what had happened to the Captain had disappeared, though Julian maintained a cautious apprehension that it was only a reprieve and not a cure.  So far, he had little cause for real concern.  Sisko had seemed more like himself since his collapse, less saint-like, though more distant and thoughtful – a fact that could as easily be attributed to processing his experience as to anything else.  Julian wondered idly if Sisko planned to address the elephant in the room or leave it be.

As if on cue, Sisko spoke up.  "Everyone, may I have your attention?"  At once the roomed hushed and all eyes turned to him. 

"I know the past few weeks have been unsettling for everyone," his said, his sweeping gaze acknowledging everyone in the room but resting on Kassidy Yates.  He smiled deprecatingly.  "They have been for me as well.  I don't think I'll ever be able to fully explain what's happened, but I want you to share with you what I can, maybe make some sense of it.  I also know that we're all feeling a little uncertain about the future right now, about the possibility of war, and so – if you're willing – I'd like to perform the Ishraka ceremony with you tonight."

"The Ishraka ceremony?"  This from Miles.

"It's a ceremony of preparation," said Kira.  "For times when a group is about to face great changes or challenges.  Its meant to bond the group together but also provide individual guidance."  She paused.  "We used it frequently in the Resistance, before raids."

A susurration of whispered comments rippled through the room, but they were murmurs of interest, not protest.  At the unspoken agreement, Sisko began preparations for the Ishraka.  Mostly this involved arranging seats in a close circle and a small table in the centre on which Sisko placed an ornate flask full of a shimmering orange liquid and a small ceremonial cup.  Julian recalled what he'd read about the ceremony.  He knew it involved the drinking of _bajoria_.  He suspected it was a mild hallucinogenic, given the frequency of visions that reportedly took place during the ceremony, but the vedeks were incredibly secretive about such things and he couldn't guess at the compounds - too much of Bajor's botany was unclassified.

Julian glanced at Garak, wondering if he would want to leave, but the Cardassian gave no indication of it, was indeed busy helping with the preparations.  Once everyone was seated – Jadzia on Sisko's left, Kira on his right – Sisko began.

"First, I know you're all curious about what's happened to me.  Unfortunately, I can't describe it better than to say it was beautiful.  It was like ... being in the sunlight ... standing on a mountain.  I could see and feel the strands that connect everything together, us together.  I could see across time and space, I could feel the future, stand in the past.  For one moment, for one brief, glorious moment, I understood.  I understood everything."

He paused and sighed, a sad smile gracing his lips.  "But like a dream, it's gone.  Unlike a dream, it's real even if I can't see it anymore.  I don't suddenly have all the answers.  I can't suddenly stop all of the bad things that are going to happen from happening.  But I now have a clearer voice in my head that will help to guide me, to guide Bajor, to hopefully guide you."

He fell silent, and the room was silent with him.  Sisko turned and nodded to Kira, who reached for the flask.  "Let us begin," he said.  "The purpose of the Ishraka is to prepare ourselves for the future.  If you partake of the _bajoria_ , you are opening yourself up to the voice of the Prophets."    

"Is it proper for those who lack faith to participate?" asked Worf, avoiding Jadzia's eyes.

Sisko smiled.  "Everyone is welcome to participate - or to refrain.  All that matters is that we respect each other's choices and beliefs." 

Worf gave an uneasy glance at Jadzia.  "You are right, Captain.  I apologise," he said.

Julian saw Jadzia place a light hand on his knee, saw his larger hand cover hers.  The gesture inspired him to give a friendly nudge of his shoulders to Garak, seated on his left.  Garak gave him a relaxed smile in return and nudged back slightly harder, just hard enough for Julian to wobble on his seat and have to catch himself, all eyes turning on him in amusement while Garak looked ahead in serene innocence. 

While Kira began to pour the _bajoria_ into the cup, holding the flask high and letting only a thin stream escape, Sisko intoned something in Bajoran the translators didn't capture.  He lifted the cup in both hands, then passed his left hand over the cup.  He then placed both hands back on the cup and drank slowly.  When he was finished, he passed his right hand over the cup, then passed the cup with his left hand to Jadzia.

Jadiza handled the cup respectfully but chose not to drink, merely passing it to Worf as her silent acceptance of his apology and the proffering of her own.  Julian saw the heated admiration in his eyes.  Worf held the cup up with reverence, not copying Sisko's motions but closing his eyes and speaking quietly in Klingon before drinking solemnly. 

Keiko gracefully repeated Sisko's gestures, taking only a delicate sip of the liquid.  When the cup passed into his hands, Miles looked at it forlornly, obviously wishing it was a beer.  He passed it off to Kassidy, who looked extremely uncomfortable at receiving it and passed it quickly to Julian. 

Julian had no intention of drinking an unknown hallucinogenic compound.  He was curious about the substance itself, but even with his limited social skills he knew enough not to give it a good sniff or stick his finger in it, and so reluctantly handed it to Garak. 

To Julian's utter astonishment, Garak solemnly received the cup in both hands then passed his hand over it as Sisko had done before raising the cup to his lips. 

Julian saw Kira begin to protest.  He saw Sisko's restraining hand on her arm.  Surprise flickered in the faces of the others, a surprise that was mirrored in his own.   Nothing he knew about the Cardassian had prepared him for the possibility that he harboured beliefs in any power beyond the state.  It was possible Garak was merely playing a game, working an angle, and yet ... 

Garak closed his eyes as he drank.  As he lowered the cup, he spoke soft words in Julian thought must be Kardasi, for what else would Garak be speaking?  Julian couldn't guess. 

Garak passed the cup to Odo, who merely conveyed it to Kira in a business-like fashion.  Kira of course completed the ritual with practiced ease.  Sisko repeated the words from the beginning of the ceremony and then replaced the cup ceremoniously on the table.  He started to speak, but all Julian heard was the lulling cadence of his voice.  All of his concentration was on Garak. 

Garak sat still with his eyes closed, but Julian noticed after a while the physiological changes.  A slight flush to his skin and scales, a decrease in his heart rate and deeper breathing.  His eyes flickered underneath his eyelids as if he were seeing something.  Julian desperately wanted to run a tricorder over him, first to make sure he was all right and second to understand what was happening.  The others who had drank also had their eyes closed, more or less affected in response to how much of the liquid they had consumed.  He watched in silence as what he could only assume to be a hallucinogenic vision waxed and waned.  Although Garak seemed all right, Julian was still happy when Sisko spoke the closing words of the ceremony some ten minutes later. 

"Our paths are ahead of us.  They will lead us to joy and to sorrow, to darkness and to light.  Some paths we may choose, others we must bear.  Remember that wherever we are led we will share our joys and bear our burdens together."

xxx

 

As they left Sisko's quarters, Julian glanced at Garak, concerned with the preoccupied silence that had settled on him.

"Are you ..."  Julian wasn't quite sure how to phrase what he wanted to say and changed tack.  "I didn't know Cardassians were religious," he said.  _Will you tell me more?_

"Many are," replied Garak.  "We don't talk about it, though."  _No._

Julian took the hint and abandoned that line of questioning.  He was learning patience.  He likened Garak opening up to him to watching an orchid bloom, as beautiful and as delicate, as rare and as in need of cultivation and care.  He prodded gently.  "Did you ... see something?" he asked.  "About ...?"  _About Tain?_

Garak glanced at him, then fixed his gaze forward and shrugged his shoulders.  _Yes._

Tain's unspoken name felt like bile in Julian's mouth, his stomach churning as he swallowed it down.  His first impulse as always since the last disastrous time they spoke about him was to push these feelings down, but it felt wrong now, when they were trying to hard to communicate.  Maybe he could do better, this time.

"Look – can we go back to my quarters?"  _We need to talk._

"I'm fine, Julian."  _I'm not comfortable talking about this._

"Just for a little bit."  _I'm not budging on this._

Garak nodded with slightly hostile resignation.  Julian could see the tense set of his neck as they turned towards his quarters.  Knowing they had a difficult conversation ahead, Julian reminded himself of Leeta's advice: _Think about how he feels._   How did Garak feel?  Tired, probably.  Unsettled by the vision, possibly.  Worried that they were going to fight, almost certainly.  _Okay,_ thought Julian, M _ake it better._

Therefore, as soon as they were inside he said, "I'm not going to ask you about Tain."  He could see Garak's muscles unclenching.  _Good,_ he thought.  "But I do need to talk about how I feel when the topic comes up."

"That ... seems fair," Garak admitted, a lingering reluctance weighting his words.

 _Good, Julian.  Keep going._ "Computer, increase heat by 5 degrees Celsius and lower lights by 30%.  Come here." Julian grabbed Garak's sleeve and pulled him over to the couch.   "Sit down.  I'll make us tea.  I think we could use it."

He brought back the tea, and set it on the table and then wrapped Garak in a hug.  Garak hesitated, then sank into the embrace.  Julian then passed him his tea and let the silence calm them for several minutes before beginning.

 _Don't make it an attack,_ he thought.  "Look, Elim, I never really apologised for how I neglected to think about things from your perspective." 

Garak tried to brush off the apology.   "It's quite alright."

"It isn't, but I know what you mean."

Garak wrapped both hands around his tea and took a long sip, breathing in the soft comfort of the steam.  "I'm sorry too," he said.  "For letting you flounder and then resenting you for grabbing on when you started to go under."  Garak took a deep breath.  "I can't talk about Tain, Julian.  Not now, perhaps not ever.  But I do want to listen."

"Thank you, Elim."  Julian brushed a strand of hair from his forehead as he gathered his thoughts.  "Ever since that incident in the Replimat, I've been thinking about why I get so upset when you mention Tain.  I kept thinking about what you said when we fought, about how I didn't really share anything real with you, either."

"Julian –"

"No, you were right.   You're horribly observant, you know.  But for the record?  You're not infallible – that bit about me still being in love with Jadzia and wanting to sabotage her relationship is pure codswallop conjured wholly from the vast depths of your own insecurities."  Julian softened the declaration with a teasing smile and a poke to the ribs.

" I ... possibly arrived at the same conclusion afterwards, when I thought about it," Garak admitted.

"Good.  Now .... Tain."

"Yes .... Tain."

"I realised something.  To me, Tain represents the darkest parts of your past – not the things I know or suspect, but the things I don't suspect, the things I fear.   Your past is like this gigantic black hole that sucks in all my fears.  Usually I don't think about it, or I think that it can't be that bad, knowing how you are now.  But other times ..."

"You know that I'll never be able to tell you everything, no matter what?  If you can't live with that -"

"I'm a Starfleet Officer, Garak - of course I understand that."  He reached out a gentle hand to find Garak's.  "That might be your insecurities speaking, love.  This isn't an ultimatum.  We'll find a way to work through this.  I just needed you to understand how I felt."

Garak wound their fingers together.  "I do."  He paused.  "My past isn't pretty, Julian.  I have regrets, but I don't regret everything.  I have – I would – do whatever is required to protect Cardassia.  I would do the same to protect you.  But ... I want you to know that I never enjoyed causing pain. "  He looked down at the floor and shrugged.  "I know that doesn't count for much."

"You're wrong," said Julian, pulling him in close.  "It means more than you know."

Sitting together, listening to the reassuring beat of Garak's heart, Julian wondered once more about Garak's vision and what it would mean for them.  He sent up a prayer to the Prophets he didn't believe in that it wouldn't tear them apart.


	11. The Visit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This episode takes place in lieu of The Darkness and the Light. In the original episode, a Cardassian servant (Silarin Prin) severely injured along with his employer's entire household during a Resistance attack led by Kira systematically kills her friends from her old Resistance cell one by one until only Kira's left. She tracks him down and he attempts to cut out the child she's carrying, as he claims unlike her he doesn't kill innocent people.

"May I join you?" 

"Please," said Odo.

He watched as she settled herself laboriously into the seat, her belly brushing against the security console.  She rested her arms against it, looking down absently at the blinking lights, the abstracted weariness telling.  "You spoke to him," he said.

"Yes.  Yesterday."

She was lost in a delicate web of thoughts Odo was unwilling to tear apart.  He had acceded to her request to speak with Silaran Prin, who was in a holding cell awaiting transfer to a penal colony, unsure what would come of it.  One could never tell with Kira.  She veered from east to west, arrogant to uncertain, vengeful to forgiving, on some internal compass he could never predict. 

"I wanted to understand why he did it," she said finally.

"Why he did it?  He's unbalanced.  Surely that was obvious."

She shrugged. "I just ... I never imagined anyone could hate me that much."  Pain leeched into her voice.  "He thinks I'm _evil_ , Odo."

"You did what you had to do, Nerys."

"That isn't what's bothering me.  I know ... I know if I had to do it again, I would, but ... it shouldn't have been so easy, like it was a game."  She paused, running her tongue over her dry lips.  "I always saw things as black and white, Odo.  We were the good guys, the heroes.  Any Cardassian involved in the Occupation was guilty no matter what they did, a servant as much as a soldier, because they had a choice.  Now, I wonder.  Do people like him, with no money or connections, no real status in society, ever really have any choice?  And even if he did, even if I justify his suffering, then what about the children?  I killed children, Odo.  Infants.  I never stopped to think.  Maybe even that wouldn't've bothered me before, but now ...."  She gazed down at the swell of her stomach again and bit back harsh tears. 

Odo placed his hand gently over hers. 

Kira brought her breathing back under control.  She turned her hand palm up to clasp Odo's.  "I wanted to say I'm sorry.  For judging you so harshly."

"I'm not sure you were wrong to."

"I am.  Things don't get easier, do they?  They just get ... more complicated."

"That's been my experience, yes."

"I also wanted to thank you.  For believing me.  If you hadn't, more people – more of my friends – would have died."

Odo felt dishonest accepting her thanks, but the truth would only hurt her to no purpose.  He hadn't believed her when she'd come to him the morning after Sisko's dinner, convinced that someone was going to murder her friends.  He'd agreed to help only because he'd wanted to mend the rift that had opened between them.  He hadn't expected to find anything.  Then Latha Mabrin had been murdered.  It was the clues from Kira's vision as much as the information he'd gathered that had led them to Silaran Prin at his base near the Demilitarized Zone before he could strike again.  Now he didn't know what to think.  "You should thank Garak," he said, to shift the topic away from himself.  "He was the one who found the information I needed to put everything together."

"I'm not sure how that would go over for either of us," she said with a small smile.  "Is it enough that I'm able to feel even a little thankful?  I didn't before, when he let Julian know I'd been abducted."

"He's not evil, Nerys."

"I know, but it was simpler when I could believe he was.  I'm not proud of all of my past, Odo, but I had reasons for what I did.  But so did Silarin, didn't he?  So does Garak.  That's the problem when you start to question your convictions .... everything starts to come down around you a bit."

"That's when you rely on your friends to help pick up the pieces."

 

xxx

 

Garak escaped the darts tournament, having invented a headache and the hope of an early night.  He was untroubled by the lie – after all, agreeing to be more open was hardly the same as not lying, and this particular truth he'd rather not see invading Julian's tranquility.

He did not let his anxiety show as he made his way unhurriedly to his quarters.  His pace was relaxed, he nodded to the customers and acquaintances he passed.  He even paused a moment to set up an appointment for a fitting.  His mind, however, was busy with other things.

 _Why_ was uppermost in his thoughts, but he reigned it back.  It was useless to conjecture without sufficient data.  _How_ was more interesting.  The increased security measures he'd implemented had alerted him to the visitor in his quarters, but Garak still wasn't certain how he'd managed to get inside in the first place.  _Who_ was obvious.

He didn't expect trouble – at least, not the immediate, physical kind – but as he approached the door he flexed his wrist to feel the reassuring coldness of the blade strapped to his forearm. 

The room was pitch black when he entered.  He spoke before the door hissed shut behind him, addressing the darkness calmly.   "Hello, Sloan." he said.  "Computer, set lights and temperature to Cardassian standard."  No reason to make his guest comfortable.

The figure of the Section 31 agent, slouched insolently against the sofa, came up with the lights.  He smiled.  "Haven't lost your touch, I see."

Garak walked over to his liquor collection.  "Kanar?  Or Scotch?  It's quite good – Chief O'Brien introduced me to this particular brand, and I've become quite fond of it."

"The kanar."

"You always did have exotic tastes."

"Good kanar is hard to come by in the Federation.  It seems foolish to pass up such an opportunity."

Garak brought over the drinks; having taken the scotch for himself.  He sat on the chair across from the sofa, sitting formally in opposition to Sloan's casualness.  He'd found that this approach – taking the opposite drink, choosing the opposite stance – sowed quiet seeds of self doubt in his opponents.

He took a careful sip of the scotch.  "And what opportunities have brought you all this way out to DS9?" he inquired.

Sloan held out a hand, palm up as if in offering.  "An opportunity for you, as a matter of fact."

"Oh?"  He was alert now, though it did not show except in the slow circling of his finger around the rim of the glass.

Sloan sat up and leaned forward.  "I want you to work for me."

"Work for you," said Garak dryly. 

"Don't try to tell me you're satisfied with hemming pants and making dresses."

Garak moved towards Sloan, just a shade more quickly than a normal humanoid could, and had the satisfaction of seeing him recoil before he could collect himself.   Garak smiled.  His enhancements had always unnerved Sloan.  He rather fancied the man had a fear of snakes, though he'd never been able to confirm it.  He gave his most reptilian smile, a cold thing that slithered down the spine.  "I'm not in the mood for games, Joshua," he said, judging that the deliberate use of Sloan's real name – and hadn't Sloan been incensed when he'd unearthed that juicy little secret – would further rattle him. 

To his credit, Sloan limited his reaction to a slight fidget.  "You're looking for Dominion prison planets," he said.  "I'd like for you to succeed.  I have certain evidence in my possession that supports the Captain's claims."

Garak was genuinely surprised.  "Why go through me?  Surely Starfleet Intelligence could convey it directly and with much less suspicion."

"Normally, you'd be right.  Only this time I don't want anyone looking too closely at where this information came from.  The methods we used might not meet with Starfleet's rather ... rigid ideas of right and wrong."

"Whereas they already assume the worst about me."  Garak disliked being a pawn for anyone, much less Sloan, but he couldn't see any way around it; Jadzia and Worf had found only circumstantial support for Sisko's claim, and he wanted desperately to be on a ship instead of sitting and waiting endlessly.

Sloan regarded him with interest.  "You're still holding out hope for Tain, aren't you?"  He shrugged.  "Well, say hi if you find him."

"He always did like you,"  Garak said, managing to sideline the bitterness from the memory of Tain's admiration of the man, of the type of son he'd really wanted.  He downed the rest of his scotch and set it on the table. 

Sloan stood up and stretched.  "Well, as fun as this has been – "

Garak interrupted him.  "Why all the smoke and mirrors with Starfleet Intelligence?  If you'd had a real objection to my taking up with Dr. Bashir, I can't imagine you'd advertise yourself so loudly."

"Don't tell me you've developed feelings for him."

"I'm moderately fond of him – good bed warmers who can also hold a decent conversation are hard to find, especially for the lone Cardassian on a Bajoran space station.  I'd be rather put out if you got rid of him."  It was fortunate that a man like Sloan would find his lie more convincing than the truth. 

"Believe me, Dr. Bashir wouldn't have been permitted to start having lunch with you if I'd thought there was any real danger."

"Not worried he'll share state secrets?  What faith you have in his probity."  Garak congratulated himself on his recent purge of Julian's history; there hadn't been much to find that pointed to his sudden transformation at the age of 6, but with someone like Sloan one couldn't be too careful.

"Dr. Bashir may be a brilliant doctor, but he's not privy to any information you can't as easily hack out of a machine."

"I'm surprised you let me be, then."

Sloan's brown eyes stared at him with calculation.  "Alive you might be some use to us, so long as Cardassia's interests are aligned with ours.  Besides, I've no doubt you've some nasty little inconvenient secrets that would suddenly come to light if you met a suspicious end."

"How very astute of you."

"You should thank me for keeping Starfleet Intelligence off your backs, actually.  They're not smart enough to see the potential, only the harm.  Bashir's not doing himself any favours, though.  He's scuppered any chance he had for immortal fame as the next LMH."

"He'll live.  I imagine we'll all have more important things to worry about soon."

Sloan picked up the kanar glass and held it up in a mock toast.  "To war – and unlikely allies." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter in the middle section and then on to the real action!


	12. Preparations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI. The episodes The Begotten (where Kira gives birth and Odo turns back into a Changeling) and For the Uniform (where Sisko hunts Eddington) are set after the end of this fic. Because of the altered timeline, they are at the prison planets earlier than in Canon.

Sisko had never understood the compulsion to procrastinate.  Even as a child it had been his father urging him to come enjoy a late summer evening while he had doggedly insisted on finishing every last math assignment.  But then, he had never minded math ....

He sighed.  Better to get it over with.  He reached reflexively for his baseball, a habit he'd inculcated as a means of controlling his temper, and initiated the call. 

His grip tightened as Dukat's preening smile filled his monitor.  "Ah, Captain. How good of you to call. I take it everything is in order?"

"Gul Dukat," he responded, with a just-polite nod.  "I was about to ask you the same question."

"Oh?"

Sisko rotated the baseball slowly, dragging his thumb over the worn leather.  "I was informed that you would be accompanied by a small number of ships - not an armada."

"These?" said Dukat, looking over his shoulder is if he could actually see the fleet stationed there.  "Merely transport ships.  There were scores of Cardassians taken in the failed attack on the Founders' homeworld, if you remember, and – between you and me, Captain - these ships aren't nearly as spacious as they look.  It wouldn't do for our soldiers to feel cramped.  What kind of welcome would that be?"

"Very considerate, given that you're talking about the last remnants of the Obsidian Order," Sisko remarked.  Really, Dukat should take acting lessons from Garak; he wasn't nearly as convincing.   

Dukat tried to look shocked.  "Surely you don't think I'd hold that against them?  Rest assured, Tain and his rabble will be held accountable for their crimes, but not soldiers who are guilty of nothing but following orders."

"Soldiers who can now serve Central Command?" Sisko asked, an almost imperceptible thread of skepticism running through the skein of his words.

Dukat frowned.  "Who can be given a chance to serve Cardassia, yes."

Point made, Sisko pressed forward.  "Be that as it may, we wouldn't want the Founders to get the wrong impression."  he said flatly.  Starfleet Intelligence, acting on Sisko's advice following the attempted abduction of Dr. Bashir, had swiftly performed life sign scans at key Federation sites and had located and captured four Changeling infiltrators.  It was not a trick that could not be counted on again, but with the Changelings and strong evidence of three prison planets in hand, they'd opened negotiations with the Founders for a prisoner exchange.  Against Sisko's advice, Cardassia had been invited into the deal, and though he could live with Dukat's presence he was damned if he was going to let him start a preemptive war.  "You can take half the ships."

"Captain, be reasonable, I – "

"Half the ships, or you don't come at all."  He cut the signal before Dukat could respond, uninterested in hearing his undoubtedly insincere protestations and promises. He'd had enough of Dukat, especially considering he'd have to put up with him for the remainder of the mission.  Besides, he still had one Cardassian left on his list.

 

xxxx

 

"I'm not sure," said the Bajoran woman, casting uneasy eyes at Garak.

"This is exactly what you said you wanted!" exclaimed Leeta, holding up the cocktail dress.  Its iridescent colours burst into life as they caught the light. "You have to at least try it on!"

"I think it might be a bit big," the woman prevaricated.

Leeta huffed.  "It's perfect, and even if it wasn't, Garak could make any adjustments you needed, couldn't you, Garak?"

"Of course," Garak confirmed, charmed by Leeta's disastrously misguided sales pitch.   If the woman - a new dabo girl only recently arrived on the station - was this nervous just being in his shop, she'd hardly be tempted by the thought of him and his hands coming anywhere near her.  At least her apprehension was something he might overcome – unlike those Bajorans who frequented his shop merely to mistreat him, delighting in harassing him with complicated requests and frequent changes before finally canceling their order altogether.

The woman hesitated longer than he'd guessed – obviously infatuated with the dress – but eventually did as he'd anticipated and started to move away from the rack.  Then Sisko entered the shop. Garak watched in fascination as the woman's demeanor blossomed into one of blushing delight.

Sisko smiled his deep attractive smile. "Ladies," he said, "May the Prophets be with you."

"And with you Emissary," they echoed, staring and tittering.

Garak interjected himself – it _was_ his shop, after all.  "Can I help you, Captain?"

Sisko turned to him.  "Just a few moments of your time - once you're finished with your customers, of course. I didn't mean to interrupt."  He saw where the woman was standing and remarked, "That's a lovely dress."

The woman held the dress as if it had been blessed.  "I was just going to try it on," she beamed.

Garak was torn between nausea and the desire to permanently install Sisko in his shop.  He ushered the women toward the changing area, pushing a bundle of additional clothes into Leeta's arms.  "Take your time," he said pointedly.  Leeta raised a questioning eyebrow but made no comment and disappeared into the back.

Garak didn't say anything when he returned, just went to his counter and started on a piece of embroidery he'd been working on between customers. 

Sisko seemed to find this amusing.  "You can pretend you're uninterested all you like, Mr. Garak, but I know better."

Garak spared him a single glance.  "One of the perks of being the Emissary, I imagine.  Knowing everything.  Or perhaps a curse."

"A bit of both.  And I don't know everything," said Sisko, leaning over the counter.  He couldn't help himself.  Ever since his prophecy to Garak he simply liked the man better.  He could find no good explanation why – he certainly didn't trust him any further.

Garak suppressed a smile.  "That's reassuring to us mere mortals.  May I ask what you _do_ know, then?"

"Three prison planets were located from the information you provided."

"But in the locations you predicted."

"Yes.  A prisoner exchange has been arranged.  The Defiant is heading to an asteroid where, among other prisoners, we think the survivors from the Cardassian assault on the Founders homeworld are kept.  We will be accompanied by Gul Dukat and a convoy from Cardassia.  But of course this is hardly news to you."

"Isn't it?  That sounds like information that ought to be classified."  Garak didn't look up, continuing to make the small, even stitches. 

Sisko grinned.  "It is.  What you don't know is that I'm inviting you to come along." 

This time Garak did look up, eyes curious.  Sisko could still surprise him, it seemed.   "Please don't take it the wrong way if I say I'm surprised at your generosity," he said.  Apparently he could have spent more time getting the Batavan wedding gown finished rather than devising ways to accompany or stow away on the ship. 

"You'll be relieved to know I don't remember much from my visions," Sisko confessed,  "But I know this is important to you, somehow."  Sisko gazed at Garak as he reflected.  He still didn't understand why he was letting Garak go with them.  The rational part of his brain offered a hundred reasons why he shouldn't and yet ... he was learning to listen to and trust the faint voice of faith he now felt rather than heard.

"That's hardly a reason to let me come," argued Garak.  Now that it was a certainty, he felt ambivalent, an odd admixture of relief and apprehension.  "But," he acknowledged, gracing the Captain with a bow of he head and a rare show of sincerity, "It's appreciated, nonetheless."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thus ends the section phase of this fic - next up is the last six chapters. Fasten your seat belts. This is where the action starts.


	13. Waiting

Beyond the temperature, which stood a few degrees above the station's standard, the Defiant had little to recommend it – at least not to Garak in his current, restless mood, muscles itching to pace the confines of the cramped bridge.  Although he kept the impulse firmly in check, he was nevertheless appalled by it.  He was known in the Order for his impressive calm before even the most hazardous missions.   ' _Ah, but this isn't just a mission, is it?'_ he thought. _'Admit it.  It's a pilgrimage.  Maybe an obsession.'_

The train of his thoughts was broken when Jadzia, voicing a question to no one in particular, asked, "Do you think there are prisoners from all of the missing ships?"

Garak stifled his annoyance at what promised to be yet another dull, desultory exchange between the Federaji.  It was a trait he abhorred in them  – the desperate need to fill a silence with their own emptiness. 

It was Sisko who answered, with a brief glance up from where he sat pensively watching the dark screens in front of him.  "I'm afraid we won't know until they're aboard.  Surprisingly, the Founders weren't willing to share much information."

"Is there someone in particular you're thinking of?" asked Odo.

"A friend of Curzon's," Jadzia replied.  "They weren't particularly close, but they'd meet at conferences.  His ship – the Resolute - disappeared almost two years ago.  I just hope he's all right."

Garak quietly scoffed at the absurdity: crying over friends of a friend, lamenting barely remembered acquaintances.  Had they no real losses to mourn in their oh so gilded lives?  The Federation had lost three ships, the crew of the Defiant a handful of tenuous connections.  Cardassia had lost scores of ships, Garak his father, his only real friend, most of his colleagues – and it was hardly the first loss he'd suffered in his life.  

"I'm afraid my people would not concern themselves overly much with the welfare of alien prisoners, though they would be unlikely to kill or torture prisoners without reason," Odo offered – as comfort, Garak thought, though others might easily be misinterpreted as defensive.    

"Then let's hope their idea of _without reason_ is similar to ours," said Sisko, without exhibiting any evidence of holding that hope himself.

"I keep thinking - what if we hadn't found out about them?" said Jadzia.  "They could have been there for years – forever."

"But they won't be," said Worf, who rarely concerned himself with the murky worlds of what-ifs.  "Thanks to the Captain's visions."

"And to Garak's information," added Jadzia in a blunt and, thought Garak, rather unnecessary challenge.

Frankly, he could have done without her dragging him into the conversation, however well-intentioned her desire to stick up for him.  He didn't give a damn what Worf thought.  He hoped the comment would pass, but – a Klingon is a Klingon is a Klingon.

"The Federation would never have gotten information from questionable sources," Worf intoned.  He glanced pointedly at Garak.  "Nor would anyone honourable." 

The sanctimony strummed on Garak's stiff nerves.  He stood up straight, pretending to pick a little lint from his outfit, composing himself before he replied.  It would take a better adversary than Worf to bring out the beast in him.  He replaced the snarl that wanted to rip into the Klingon with a shining smile.  "Isn't it fascinating how such wholesome words - such as honour – can sometimes hide their less savoury counterparts?   Such as ... cowardice, say?"

Worf reared himself up to his full height, nostrils flaring and, yes, Garak noted with amusement, snarling.  Garak let his full smirk bloom.  Worf opened his mouth to roar some nonsense about honour but – to Garak's everlasting disappointment -  the Captain forestalled him.

"Gentlemen," said Sisko, with a stern glance at Worf that quelled him and sent him muttering into a corner.  Sisko turned the same rocky gaze onto Garak.  "Mr. Garak, we won't be in Dominion space for a few hours.  Why don't you go relax ... somewhere else."

Garak knew an order when he heard one - nor was he stupid enough to bait Sisko on his own bridge.  Given his rather limited choice of options (he would not go back to the even more cramped confines of his quarters) he decided his best course of action was to head to the infirmary and see if Julian were free. 

He gave Sisko a courtier's bow and, rewarded with a flicker of amusement for his efforts, swaggered off the bridge.  Irritatingly, Odo slotted into the already small turbolift beside him.  Garak waited until the doors shut and then turned on the Changeling.

"Must you escort me everywhere?" he snapped.

Odo stared back levelly.  "Must you keep asking me that?" he asked.  "You know perfectly well why.  You're certainly not advocating that I be more trusting, I hope."

Garak, annoyed more at his own lack of control and manners than at Odo, withdrew.  "I apologise, Constable.  I'm normally better at waiting."

"Tain does seem to have rather a disproportionate effect on you," remarked Odo.

Garak studied him in his peripheral vision, wondering if it were an oblique reference to their last disastrous encounter with his father – perhaps even a reprimand.  "Odo – " he began cautiously, only to be cut off. 

"Are you sure it's wise seeing him?"

The turbolift stopped.  Garak waved Odo ahead of him, but the Changeling didn't budge.  Garak sighed and exited the lift first then waited for Odo to join him.  "No," he said,  "But it's necessary."

"I don't understand _why_."

"And I'm not about to enlighten you."  They walked silently for a few moments.  As they turned into the long corridor leading to the infirmary, Garak asked, "What about you, Odo?  You didn't need to come.  The Captain would have understood."

"I won't hide," Odo asserted, although he said it a shade too quickly, as if he had been considering just that.  He paused then amended his statement.  "However, I do admit to some ... trepidation."

"You think some of your people will be there?" Garak sincerely hoped not.  He would feel obliged to assassinate the female Founder, which would not only put a regrettable dent into his friendship with Odo, but would also distract him from his objective.

"Perhaps.  I was thinking more of the Vorta and the Jem'Hadar.  I have no intention of going down to the planet unless my presence is required, though.  I don't know how they would react me to me as –"

"A fallen god?" Garak asked archly.

Odo harrumphed.  "A Solid.  Don't be so dramatic."

They had reached the infirmary, which was empty except for Julian.  He always kept the infirmary fully prepped and, knowing they would likely work long and weary hours once the prisoners had been transferred aboard, had dismissed his staff to rest while they could.

"I'll leave him with you then," said Odo to Julian with a nod.  "I'd appreciate it if you didn't leave him on his own."

Garak felt a juvenile urge to stick his tongue out – a human custom Julian had gleefully treated him to on multiple occasions and which he had found himself starting to mimic – but decided the risk of being caught and losing his dignity was too great.

Therefore, he turned to Julian and offered him his palm.  Julian reciprocated the restrained Cardassian greeting and then kissed him anyway.  "Any news?"

"I'm afraid not."  Garak had no intention of letting on that he had been ejected from the bridge – it would amuse Julian far too much.  "You know," he said instead, "I was thinking that the Founders in some ways bear a resemblance to the Golgathi in that Andorian novel we read."

"Maybe superficially," said Julian, and they were off on their usual debate – and yet, something seemed off to Garak.  Julian's responses were less pointed, more vague than usual.  It therefore didn't surprise him when, during a lull in the conversation, Julian cleared his throat as a prelude to broaching something that had obviously been on his mind for some time.

"Look, Elim," he said, "There's something I need to say."

Garak stepped back a little to give himself the necessary space and nodded warily.

Julian let out a deep breath, his sigh heavy with apology.  "I thought I didn't need to know about your vision, about why you're running to see Tain, but I was wrong."

Garak closed his eyes, lest the sudden resentment and guilt spill into them.  He wished he could explain this quest, even to himself.  Like a dream, the vision had dissipated and left only unreliable wisps of memory.  He knew with complete conviction Tain was alive and that he would find him.  Beyond this there was only the lingering belief that – somehow – finding him would bring him that acceptance and belonging he had craved so desperately for so long.  And what could that mean but Tain's forgiveness, Tain's blessing, Tain's love?  How could he share hopes that, if realised, almost certainly meant the end of their relationship?  Hopes that he had not dwelt on for that very reason?  Hopes that had sustained him through his exile, perhaps through all his life, and yet now seem oddly hollow - a wavering of his deepest desire that disturbed  him to such an extent that he clung to those hopes even more desperately? 

How could he explain something he barely understood?

"Julian – " he began.

"No, let me finish.  I'm scared.  You're walking into their power Elim – Tain, the Order – and for what?"

"Answers," Garak said unwillingly, wishing Julian would stop.  He didn't need the added burden of this conversation right now.

"Answers to what?" Julian prodded.

"I don't know!"  He was trembling now.  He turned, trying to regain his composure.

Julian took a tentative step forward and laid a hand on his back.  "It's just ... I'm worried.  It isn't safe."

"Is your job always safe, Julian?" he asked.  He turned around, holding up a hand to forestall Julian's objection.   "I know what you're going to say, that it's different, that it's your duty.  This is my duty. I know you can't understand that, but any Cardassian would.  It's not about what Tain deserves. It's not about how I feel.  It's about duty."

Julian nodded reluctantly, unhappy but unwilling to push the matter further.  Garak pressed his advantage.

"There's one more thing.  When we go down, you can't act as if we're anything more than casual friends.  If they think you're important to me, they could try to hurt you."

Garak could see that Julian was about to say something brave and foolish about not being afraid.  He needed him to be afraid.

Garak grabbed him tightly by the arms and looked him directly in the eyes, letting his own reflect the fear there, a fear engendered not by threats but by painful experience.  "Promise me."

He only relaxed when Julian slowly, reluctantly, nodded his assent.


	14. Interment Camp 371

Garak waited while the familiar numbing sensation of the transporter surrounded him.  A moment later, he found himself in a fug of must and damp.  As he and the rest of the away team materialised (Sisko, Worf, Julian and several security and health personnel) he heard the oil-smooth voice of what could only be a Vorta.

"Captain Sisko, I believe? I am Deyos, the Vorta in charge of this facility. Gul Dukat and his party have already beamed down.  Shall we join them?"

They followed him silently down a mold-stained hallway and into a colourless compound, as drab as all the prisons Garak had ever endured.  He shivered slightly, from the memories as much as the damp.   Dukat and his men were waiting, perhaps a dozen Cardassians, fidgeting in the cold.  Garak knew only a few names, but he recognised in them the type of incompetent flatterer with whom Dukat liked to surround himself.  Damar was the exception: competent and blunt, from what Garak had heard.  He wondered how Dukat had earned the loyalty - and tolerated the criticism - of such a man.  

The Cardassians eyed him with bored contempt.  He cast his eyes down as if in shame.  Let them underestimate him.  He examined their uniforms; not a concealed weapon among the lot of them.  He'd expected no better from the military, but still ...

Garak transferred his attention to Dukat, surprised and unsettled that the Gul had neither commented on nor objected to his presence.   Even more disturbing were the dryly amused glances Dukat kept aiming at him while pretending to concentrate fully on Deyos as the Vorta explained the convoluted paperwork apparently necessary to release the prisoners. 

The interminable bureaucracy and formalities lumbered on.  Even Dukat with his gauche love of pomp had to keep stifling yawns.  Sisko stood with his hands clenched together, Worf stoic and stiff by his side.  Julian didn't even attempt to hide his irritation, sighing and huffing and throwing blunt glances to the far end of the compound at the prisoners there, eager to begin his ministrations.

When it was finally over and Sisko had left for the Defiant, Julian barked an order at his team and rushed off.  Worf moved to do the same.  His team was responsible for the logistics of accounting for and transporting everyone aboard the Defiant and the two transport ships that had come with her.  Garak stopped him as he passed with a hand on his arm. Worf answered with a frown.

"A brief word, Commander?"

Worf nodded curtly.  He dismissed his crew to their work and turned back around with his arms crossed as if to ward off Garak's evil trickery.  

Garak sighed, wishing that he had Odo to deal with instead.  At least Worf was capable – more than capable – of doing what he needed of him.  "I am concerned that my association with Doctor Bashir may bring him unwanted attention.  I have warned him to be discreet while we are here, but I fear dissimulation is not in his nature. I would appreciate it if you could watch for any trouble."

Thankfully, Worf did not voice his opinion on Julian's association with him.  He merely inclined his head in acknowledgement. "Very well. Is that all?"

"No. There is always the possibility that someone may use me to get at him.  I won't have him hurt or killed because of me. If that's the situation, then do whatever you need to do to keep him safe.  That includes killing me, if necessary." 

Worf's eyes widened and his gaze intensified.  "I will do as you ask."

Garak could see the measured respect in the look Worf gave him and wasn't sure how he felt about it. He wondered sometimes if his dislike of the Klingon came from envy over his ability to live in a world where honour seemed possible.

As Worf turned to leave, Garak restrained him. "One more thing, Worf," he said, narrowing his eyes in emphasis, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't take that permission as an open invitation,".

Worf's answering grin as he stalked off was a little too bloodthirsty for Garak's preference.  _Klingons_ , he thought, not unfondly.  At least he was satisfied that he'd done as much as he could to protect Julian.  Now he could turn his mind to his own objective.

Thanks to Vorta bureaucracy, he'd had plenty of time to observe the compound.   If this area was typical in size and population, then by his estimate there were roughly 1,500 prisoners on the asteroid.  Many were Cardassian and Romulan, of course – remnants of the attack fleet - but there were others.  In addition to humans a few other Federation species, he'd seen a Klingon, a Breen, and a mix of beings whose species he couldn't even identify. 

None of them looked to be in good health, but neither did they look to be near death.   They were neglected rather than abused: underfed, untreated and underdressed but not starved, tortured or in rags.  Even so, Garak didn't know if he'd have been able to stand it.  He'd always been more susceptible to the cold than other Cardassians, and the close quarters and small spaces inside of an airless asteroid might have driven him mad.  Nevertheless, he would have been among his people.

He'd never expected to see them again.  His fractured, fractious family, now alien in their familiarity.  There was Brel, brilliant and vicious, who had never forgiven Garak for being given the assignment on Romulus; Gevin, who was always humming some guls-awful melody; Senec, mild and deadly, who moved as silently as a knife; Kotor, whom everyone thought would fail but never did; Nadan, who never seemed to get drunk ... details and long-dismissed memories all clamoring for his attention. 

He pushed them back.  Old facts, old feelings, old factions – what use were they now?  In the Order, power and favour veered more quickly than a pack of voles, careers ended or begun with a twitch of Tain's finger.  Many thought him mercurial, but Garak knew better.  Tain had always told him it did no good to let powerful people have a foundation on which to build.  Garak had thought, foolishly, that the rules were different for him.

Garak approached the group at a restrained pace, unsure of his reception.  The Jem'Hadar would not allow any open trouble, but open trouble was not what he feared.  It was the hidden knife, the swift and silent retribution.    

Two individuals moved away from the group and toward him: Senec and Brel.  He tempered his surprise.  They were not the ones he would have expected to gain ascendency – Brel too blunt, and Senec too cautious - but then there were so many variables here he did not know.  Senec at least had been his friend, or what passed for a friend among operatives.  Garak wasn't as foolish as humans, though.  He knew better than to believe that a few drinks, a certain sympathy and a bit of sex counted for anything now.  When one's status within a group changed, so did friendships and feelings.

Garak put a reassuring smile on his face and a reassuring hand on the knife strapped to his thigh, concealed almost in plain sight in the design of his tunic.  "Brel, Senec," he said as he approached. 

"What are you doing here, Garak?" Senec asked quietly, eyeing the Federation team behind him, the unspoken words _With Them?_ clearly implied.

Garak shrugged, as if it were obvious.  "I need to see Tain."

"Tain exiled you," said Brel.

 _Blunt as always,_ thought Garak.  "Yes, I'm aware," he drawled.  "And?  It's for him to say if he'll see me – not you." 

Instead of the confrontation he expected, he saw Brel and Senec exchange a quick glance.  Garak's stomach clenched.    "What is it?" Garak demanded.

"Tain isn't well," admitted Senec. 

Garak followed his eyes to one of the prison cells.  _Tain._   "We have a doctor," he said, immediately cursing himself for bringing Julian into this.  He hadn't meant to say it, the words spilling out unbidden. 

"We don't need a Federation doctor," said Brel flatly.  "You used to understand that we don't share such things with outsiders."

"Dukat sent a medical team," Senec added, smoothing over the moment.  "The doctor is with him now, but ....  he may not live, Garak."

Garak stared at the closed door, the intensity welling up in him.  "I need to see him," he said, his words neither a request nor a demand but a simple statement.

"No," said Brel.  "You are no longer a member of the Order.  You have no rights."

Senec held up his hand.  "It's not Garak's fault.  You know how Tain can be.  Garak would have been with us if he could have."

Garak inclined his head slightly, as if to indicate agreement, but inwardly he was shocked.  _They don't know why Tain exiled me,_ he thought.  _They think it was just another one of Tain's whims.  A good thing, too.  Some may have sympathised, but most would have sided with Tain._  Before Garak could reply, the door opened and the doctor emerged. 

"Doctor Telma, how is he?" Senec asked as she approached.

She glanced briefly at Garak but addressed the other two.  "It's his heart," she said.  "There's a natural defect, and with the conditions here and the lack of medical care, it's been damaged beyond repair.  Perhaps if we were on the hospital on Prime – but he'd never get there.  And he's refusing any care I can give him.  He has a few hours at most.  He's asking for the Shri-tal."

"Whom did he name?" asked Brel, voice tight with anticipation.  _Like a scavenger waiting for the meal,_ thought Garak angrily.

"Brel," replied the doctor uncertainly, unsure of Brel's identity or how the news would be received, wishing she was far away from the Order, weakened or not.

"No."  Garak's face, his eyes, his voice hardened with a primal, possessive authority. 

Brel inched forward, close enough that Garak hissed. "An exile has no claim."

Garak's hand shot out and caught Brel around the throat, thumb digging inexorably into his windpipe.  Brel lashed out.  Garak, expecting the blow, let it land, twisting so that it bruised but not broke, all his concentration on not releasing his grip.  Brel choked out a hiss and managed to connect a kick to Garak's knee, but Garak stood firm until the lack of air subdued Brel. 

No one around them moved, and Garak thanked the Great Gul that no one seemed inclined to interfere.   He turned to Senec, but made sure his voice carried.

"Senec, tell Tain I'm here.  If he still names Brel for the Shri-tal, I'll respect his wishes.  But if he names me ..."  Garak shifted his gaze to Brel, who nodded. 

Garak released him.  Brel wasn't so undignified as to stumble, but he traced light fingers along his throat.  Neither spoke, waiting together uneasily. 

It wasn't long until Senec returned, all eyes on him.  He glanced at Brel and Garak in turn, and then nodded at Garak. 

Garak wasted neither time nor words.  He left abruptly, walking steadily to the small cell where Tain lay.  Brel watched him go, burying his envy at the thoughts of the secrets spilling from Tain's mouth.  At least he had the satisfaction of seeing Garak walk slowly, trying to conceal the limp from the injury Brel had inflicted. 

"Exile," he spat. 

Senec, not above an innocent opportunity to antagonize Brel, simply shrugged.  "Tain named him.  It's his right."

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that Garak could while his way back to Tain's favour at the end.  He's always been sly."

Senec smiled.  "He reminds me of one of the hero of those Tenali tales they tell children.  What was his name?  Corin Rinarin?  The one who convinces the sun to stop shining and the plants to stop growing until his parents give him what he wants."

"I hope he doesn't think we're as easy to convince as Tain, or those Federaji he's managed to enthral," Brel remarked, looking across the compound to observe the bustle of the Federation team.  _Especially that one,_ he thought to himself.   

xxx

Julian - whose augmented brain allowed him to coordinate triage activity, direct and provide medical treatment, and spy subtly on a certain Cardassian – frowned deeply.   He'd restrained himself when Garak had grabbed the Cardassian by the throat, but now, watching him go to what was certainly Tain's bedside, he felt an almost overwhelming urge to run and stop him.

He knew he couldn't, but nothing was going to stop him from getting more information.  Arming himself with a bright smile, he approached the doctor who had treated Tain.

"Hello?" he said.

She looked up, suspicion radiating from her violet eyes.

"I'm Doctor Julian Bashir, from Deep Space Nine – Terok Nor." he said, knowing better than to offer his hand.

She blinked, then bowed her head.  "Forgive my rudeness, doctor.  It is ... unusual to see men in the medical profession."

"Less so in the Federation."

"Indeed."

Julian realised she wasn't going to move the conversation forward at all.  _Bloody Cardassians_.  "I just wanted to offer you help ... if you need it." Julian said lamely.  He pushed forward against the impasse of her stare.  "It's just, I know you have a lot more patients to contend with than we do."

She nodded.  Barely.  "Thank you, doctor, but that won't be necessary.  We did of course come well prepared, as I am sure you did," she said stiffly.

And now he'd insulted her.  _Great._   "I meant no disrespect," he said.  How did Cardassians apologise?  _They don't, Julian, you idiot._

"Of course," she said, turning to leave.

"I also wanted to inquire about Tain," Julian said.  She wrenched herself around to stare at him, eyes wide and frightened.  _Right, Julian, you don't just blurt out inquiries about the bloody head of the bloody Obsidian Order._ He stumbled on."My friend ... um ... knows him." he said.

"I see," she said, casting an uncomfortable gaze at Tain's cell.  "I am sorry to report that Director Tain's condition is terminal.  He is conducting the Shri-tal now with your .... friend."

"I'm ... I see, yes, thank you," he said.  He had begun to ask if he could help but had choked on the falsity of his words.  He _wanted_ Tain to die, he realised, the guilt like bile in his throat.  He forced out the question. 

"If I can help?"

To his relief, she shook her head and was gone.  Julian's eyes trailed after her, then settled on the closed door of the cell, not noticing the more discreet pair of eyes that settled on him.


	15. Tain

Garak stepped into the still room, close with the scent of death, and hesitated at the threshold.  Before him, laid out on a narrow cot, rested the once imposing figure of his father.  Only it wasn't his father, it couldn't be.  Tain had never looked so frail, nor stayed so silent.  His breaths had never faltered, nor shivered with low rasps.    

"Elim?"

The voice was thinner, but the sharp edge had not yet rusted.  Garak swallowed and found his own voice.  "I'm here, Enabran."  He went forward and knelt before him.

"I didn't expect to see you again."  As always, Tain's cruelty was economical.  From long practice, Garak unwound the unspoken words: _You're a disappointment, Elim.  You always have been._  

"I know," Garak replied. 

Tain regarded him silently, still as a serpent.   Garak felt the same mesmerising fear he'd felt as a child, the same inability to do anything except wait for the knife, for the fist, for the cutting words. 

To his surprise, Tain mutely turned from him, shaking his head and sighing.  "How did you know I was here, then?" he asked, as if the answer didn't matter.  Garak noted the direction of Tain's gaze; it was the same weary path his own eyes inevitably traveled, towards Cardassia.  He swallowed.  He was inured to Tain's cruelty, not to his suffering. 

Garak reached an irresolute hand forward.  He stopped, fingers just shy of his father's arm, before pulling back.  Tain didn't move, didn't react.  Garak was uncertain if his father had failed to notice the gesture or had merely refused to acknowledge it. 

Consigning his hands to his lap, he offered what he could: skillful words to entertain and inform.  He acquainted Tain with the political events of the past two years, weaving into the narrative tattered threads of gossip and intrigue with which Tain had once unravelled plots and ruined careers.  Garak watched him discreetly as he spoke.  Occasionally the old fervor would surge in his eyes, but more often than not it receded on the shores of his apathy. 

It was achingly reminiscent of the many times he had stood before his father, weary but eager, reporting on the success of a mission.  Now there was only the weariness.  He no longer embellished his role nor exaggerated his success, waiting for praise that never followed.   He told his stories well, but now they rested on the embers of his hunger for approval, for benediction.  Some perversity even compelled him to add, in a half-truth, that it was only because of Sloan that they had found him.

As Garak knew it would, the mention of Sloan roused Tain.  He smiled up thinly at Garak.  "That doesn't surprise me.  He's a clever man." 

Garak buried his jealousy and smiled back as if the joke where shared.  "He sends his warm regards."

Tain chuckled.  "Like he's got any; he's as cold-blooded as a ..." he looked pointedly at Garak, "Well, as most Cardassians.  When did you see him?" 

"Almost a month ago," Garak admitted. 

"And you only just arrived.  A pity.  A few weeks – a few years - ago you may have been of some use to me."

"Father – "

"I'm not your father," Tain interrupted peevishly, which set off a coughing fit.  Garak sprang forward to help, but Tain swatted him away with an angry hand.  He waved towards a glass of water, which Garak brought to him.  Tain grasped the glass with trembling hands, gasping the liquid down between coughs.

Garak watched him, distressed.  "Let me get you a doctor," he pleaded.

Tain shook his head and lay back heavily on the thin cot.  "To what purpose?"   He drew in a strained breath.  "No, it's done.  It would be foolish to think otherwise.  My health – my power - will never be restored."

"But – " Garak choked back the words, chiding himself for his folly.

Tain regarded him with dripping disdain.  "What would you have me do, Elim?  Go back to Arawath?  Tend the garden?  What is that to me after what I've had?  After the power?  The fear?"

It was Garak's turn for derision. "And what did the power and the fear cost you, Enabran?" he inquired.

"Sentiment," Tain snorted, "You've not changed at all."

"Send me away, then. I'm sorry Sloan isn't here to delight you, but I'm sure Brel will suffice -  though you might find his company a trifle insipid."

Tain chuckled.  “Oh, Elim, I have missed your melodrama."

Garak stood and turned away, radiating a defeated silence.  He could feel Tain watching him.  When he didn't respond, Tain began speaking, dangling his secrets enticingly. 

"I've been thinking about my failures," he confessed.  "A man tends to in my situation.  The Founders.  That business with Gul Trevik.  You.  Do you want to know what they all had in common, Elim?"

Garak didn't respond, but he was listening, intently, and he knew that Tain knew he waited on every word. 

"Hubris," Tain continued.  "I always prided myself on my ability to exploit the unique strengths of operatives, to carve out their potential, but with you ... ah, well.  I wasn't looking for another operative, was I?  I was looking for a successor, and in my pride I saw myself as the only ideal by which to measure you.  Any differences between us I marked as deficiencies, and when I couldn't beat them out of you I deemed you a failure.  And yet ... no matter what I did to you or asked of you, no matter how difficult the assignment, how painful the sacrifice, how degrading the task, you succeeded.  You succeeded despite your weaknesses, or so I thought.  It confused me – and it angered me.  The more you succeeded the more I wanted to break you.” 

Garak turned around, the truth twisting in his guts.  “You did.  Bit by bit.” 

“But never so much that you couldn’t glue yourself back together, Alem'ka.  Even now, even in exile, you've thrived.”

Garak barked a laugh and paced quickly in the tight space.  "Thrived?!  There?!  Do you have any idea what it's been like, Enabran?  The excess of hatred and bright lights and bitter cold?  The absence of purpose and affection and community?"

"And yet look at you," said Tain, unruffled by Garak's agitated wandering.  "You don't understand.  Not one in a thousand Cardassians could have endured it.  You not only survived but somehow managed to form connections with others, with aliens!  You are strong because of your sentiment, and because it didn't come from me I despised it.  I was wrong.  I should have used it.  Oh, Elim.  You were a wasted opportunity.  What I could have done with you, what I could have turned you into!”

Garak felt the hurt coil around his neck like a vine.  What did it matter if he'd succeeded or not?  What did it matter if he were praised as a good tool when what he wanted was to be cherished as a good son?      

Tain, tired from the exertion, said nothing further.  Garak sat by him in silence while the hour passed.  When another coughing fit seized Tain, Garak mechanically gave him the water and waited until the shuddering coughs subsided.  He went to refill the glass but was stopped by Tain's tight grip on his arm.

"Wait," he said. 

Garak waited, but Tain lapsed back into silence.  "If there's something you need me to do –" Garak began.

Tain shook his head.  "No.  I've managed to outlive all my enemies at least."

"Then save your strength, Enabran."

His father shook his head, perhaps afraid or aware that he had little time remaining.  He reached inside his tunic and held out his hand to Garak.  "Take this."

The pendant was unblemished Obsidian, smooth as black water, dark as sin.  Garak had seen it only rarely, brief snatches and stolen glances.   He could only stare in disbelief, his glance moving from the stone to Tain and back again.

"Take it," Tain wheezed, opening Garak's hand and thrusting the pendant into his palm.  "Rebuild the Order."

Garak felt the fleeting warmth of his father's hand, then the cold weight of the stone against his skin.

"Send in Senec and Brel.  I'll tell them of my decision."

Garak rose uncertainly, glancing back hesitantly at Tain. 

"Go, Elim," whispered Tain.  "And don't disappoint me again."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alem'ka is from an earlier fic in this series. It is Tain's nickname for Elim, a play on his name and also a reference to an ugly, unkillable weed. 
> 
> The difference in this AU is that Tain has not been kept alive longer and is not delirious as he is in the episode In Purgatory's Shadow, and this is why his actions are different than in canon. This was a really hard chapter to write - there's so many ways the conversation could have gone; believe me, I played with them all.


	16. Surprises

"I'd like Ensign Cottrelic and all patients with level one injuries beamed up first so we can prep them for surgery. I'll go with them. Meanwhile, continue providing what care you can here and prioritise the remaining patients for transportation.  I'll need at least one person to beam up with each group; the rest of you remain behind only long enough to clean up the equipment.  Understood?"

Julian's team nodded and set about their tasks.   Julian watched them with satisfaction.  They'd worked hard and they'd worked well.  They'd met all of the patients' immediate needs as well as providing much needed comfort and support.  He was only glad that the injuries had not been too severe; most of the Federation prisoners had not been targeted for the ring as Martok and others had been.

 

As he waited, Julian began the laborious task of cross-referencing the heavily redacted records provided by Deyos with those of Starfleet personnel.  He was so absorbed in his work that it was only the scuff of feet and a warning growl that alerted him that something was wrong. 

A half dozen Cardassians had clearly been approaching him, only to be forestalled by Worf and Martok.   Now there was a tense standoff.  Julian rose to his feet to help when a hand dropped heavily on his shoulder.  He twisted around and found himself face to face with a grim Cardassian – one he instantly recognized.    

"A word, doctor?"

Julian flicked his eyes towards Worf and Martok, still standing off against the Cardassians, cursing himself.  He'd watched Garak too avidly, approached Dr. Telma too quickly.  Garak had warned him, and he hadn't listened. 

The Cardassian was almost as tall as he was, but stockier – at least nominally; the poor nutrition had taken its toll.  Julian assumed he was a member of the Order and, as such, a formidable opponent, weakened or not.  A quick blow to the throat might disable him, but he risked being killed if he didn't use his enhancements, being found out if he did, and causing a larger brawl (with the Federation heavily outnumbered) in either case.  His best option was to avoid a fight altogether, convince him he'd no investment in Garak. 

But that didn't mean he'd be unprepared for a fight.   He shifted slightly to the left and back: enough to give him an advantage, but not enough to be noticeable.  "Of course, Mr ...?"

"Brel."

"Mr. Brel.  What can I do for you?"

"Nothing for me ... but there might be something you can do for Garak."  His voice, his posture, the slight gesture of supplication he made with his hand, were above reproach; he was the embodiment of the courteous, concerned friend.   

"Oh?  Is he ill?" Julian kept his voice casual. 

Brel leaned forward, and Julian tried not to recoil from the stale breath.  A few of the teeth were rotten, and one molar was cracked.  "No, but he is making a mistake. I believe Tain intends him harm. I was hoping that you - as a _friend_ \- might talk with him."

Julian didn't miss that oh-so-slight emphasis _._   "I'm afraid we're not that close," he said carefully, "and from what I've seen, Garak is more than capable of taking care of himself."  He hesitated, then pushed back blandly.  "You'll forgive me for saying so, but I'm surprised you're trying to help - it didn't exactly seem that the two of you were getting along."

Brel's lips twitched upwards in apparent amusement.   "Oh, you saw that did you? It's not uncommon among ourselves; it doesn't mean anything."  Brel's pause was considered.  "You saw quite a lot, didn't you?  You seemed rather interested in ... everything."

Julian did not miss the subtle shift in Brel's tone and posture, nor the way he unconsciously rubbed his thumb and fingers together as he weighed the consequences of harming a Starfleet officer against the pleasure of harming Garak.  ' _Careful, Julian. Unbalance him.'_  He remembered the advice Garak had given him on lying, the one piece that had stuck with him sharply – _'If you can't think of a lie, Julian_ , _then tell a different truth_."

Julian forced out a you've-got-me laugh and shrugged in apparent confession. "Guilty as charged!"

Brel pulled back and scowled his surprise.  Julian pressed forward.  "It's just, I've never seen so many non-Federation species. I'm very interested in frontier medicine, you see – in fact, it's why I came out to DS9 – you know DS9?  Terok Nor?  Anyway, it's why I went there in the first place, and I don't know when another chance like this will come along. I mean, it's like being a kid in a candy store and not being allowed to touch anything.  There are species here I've never even seen before.  I've heard of Breen, of course, but I've never had a chance to examine one - I don't suppose you know if they have a single or double gravitic valve?"

As Julian spoke Brel's face had shifted from confusion to disgust.  He took a step back.  "I've no idea."

Julian followed.  "Oh, I could explain it to you – it's quite fascinating, really."

"Thank you, doctor, but I really must get back."  Brel retreated as he gave his reply, following it with a stiff bow.  He didn't linger, and Julian noted that his abrupt departure magically dispersed the group of Cardassians with whom the Klingons had hitherto been exchanging snarls and sneers (the former stemming from the Klingons, the latter from the Cardassians).    

As Julian approached them, Worf asked, "Are you alright, doctor?"

"Yes, I'm fine.  He was just testing the waters, wanting to know how close I was to Garak."

Worf stared at the retreating Cardassians.  "I should have recognised that for the diversion it was," he apologised.

Martok shrugged, untroubled.  "Cardassians. Conniving creatures."

Julian watched them as well, more worried than ever about Garak.  He wanted to stay, but it was impossible.  He had his duty, and even if he didn't, Garak would be better able to look after himself without having to worry about him as well. 

"I'll be returning to the ship now - I've got several surgeries to perform. You're staying here?"  At Worf's nod he said, "Do me a favour.  Just ... keep an eye on Garak for me."

xxx

Garak sat in the empty room, staring at the body, steeped in disbelief.  He still held Tain's calloused hand, the hand that had, perhaps unconsciously, perhaps reflexively, reached out for him at the end.  An action that troubled him in its ambiguity, its promise, its ultimate emptiness.  He looked at the dingy cot, the meagre blanket.  There would be no fanfare, no feasting.  None of the long-winded eulogies extolling his triumphs, summing up his service to the state.  Brel would have chosen something traditional and unimaginative, Senec something appropriate but unexpected.  What would he have chosen?  Unbidden, words swum to the surface of his mind:

_Perfection, of a kind, was what he was after,_

_And the poetry he invented was easy to understand;_

_He knew human folly like the back of his hand,_

_And was greatly interested in armies and fleets;_

_When he laughed, respectable senators burst with laughter,_

_And when he cried the little children died in the streets._

 

He snorted.  A human poem; what was he coming to?  He shook himself from his stupor of unprofitable thoughts.  There were things to be done; he would get nothing more from his father now.  He placed Tain's hand gently down on the cot and pulled up the thin blanket.

It was then he noticed, for the first time, the unnatural silence. He'd heard background noise earlier and had paid it little heed.  Now, as he reflected on it, it seemed off.

Something had happened. 

He felt suddenly trapped, the room and the presence of Tain's body suffocating.   What if they locked him in there, never let him out?  He felt the seeds of panic sprout, and he rooted them out viciously, loath to show weakness before Tain, even now.

He stood and composed himself.  He laid a last, lingering hand on his father, then left. 

xxx

Six hours and an aching back later, Julian cleaned up from his last surgery.  Fluttering in the back of his mind was the worry over Garak.  _'Relax Julian.  He could be back already.  Check on the new patients and then you can find him.'_    Yet when Julian emerged there were no new patients, and only the staff that had beamed up with him. 

Something was wrong.

"What's going on?" he demanded, his concern unfairly hardening the question.  "Why hasn't anyone else arrived?"

Nurse Jabara stiffened her voice slightly in reproach. "The transporters went offline shortly after we arrived." 

"And they haven't been fixed yet?  What's going on?" said Julian sternly, obliviously.

"I wouldn't know, doctor," Jabara pointed out with a certain lack of patience.  "The bridge merely told us to stand by."

Julian frowned his way out the door and up to the bridge.  What he found when he arrived - a room stuffed with tension and frustration – did little to settle him. "What's happened?" he asked.

Sisko swivelled in his chair.  "Nothing," he said tiredly.  "We were told hours ago that the transporters were down."

"Taken off line, more like it," corrected Miles.

"And since then nothing," added Jadzia, "No answers to our hails, nothing."

There was nothing they could do but wait.  Julian stayed.  It was insupportable to wait elsewhere, agony to wait there.  Over the next hour his fear thinned into a sweaty dread and his worries devolved into a thick sludge of guilt.  He should have done something, stayed below, prevented Garak from coming.  He knew there was nothing he could have done, but still the guilt prickled.  He should have done something, found something, anything.

Jadzia's tense voice roused him.  "Captain!  I have a squadron of Jem'Hadar fighters approaching our position."

"Shields up!" snapped Sisko.   "What the hell are they playing at?" he muttered.

"Sir, we're being hailed by Dukat."

"Finally.  On screen."

Dukat appeared, sprawled in his seat, a swaggering smile on his face.  Beside him was Deyos, who stood with a peevish sort of primness. 

"My apologies, Captain, for the unfortunate delay," drawled Dukat, sounding anything but.

Sisko pushed himself from his chair and prowled forward.  "What's going on, Dukat?"

It was Deyos who took a step forward, giving a stiff bow and a fluid smile.  "Today is an auspicious day, Captain Sisko.  A day of joy and celebration!  Today, Cardassia has joined the Dominion."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem Garak quotes is Epitah on a Tyrant by Auden


	17. Complications

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The long, action-packed climax - enjoy!

The broken knuckles of his left hand hurt. It amused Garak that _that_ was what his brain chose to call attention to right now, given the wreckage that was the rest of his body: a wrenched knee, several cracked ribs (one of them scraping against his lungs), a gash in his left shoulder that cut down to the bone, a ringing concussion, probable internal bleeding, a glut of welts, bruises, cuts and contusions.  

It wasn't the outcome he'd expected.   How long had it been since he had left Tain?  Hours?  He couldn't tell anymore, his life divided neatly into before and now, into a dead past and an interminable present.

xxx

The first thing he noticed were the Jem'Hadar flanking Tain's cell as they swarmed in to cinch calloused hands around his arm.   As they jostled him forward roughly, he observed the Federation personnel under armed guard.  He noted, too, the lack of guard around the Cardassian prisoners as he was hauled in front of Damar and the First, who stood waiting for him.  

"Have I missed something?" Garak asked innocently.

Damar ignored the question and asked bluntly in return, "Tain is dead? You were not arrested earlier out of respect for the Shri-tal."

Garak allowed his genuine shock to filter through as fake surprise.  "Arrested? Might I be allowed to know on whose authority?"

"The head of the new Cardassian government: Gul Dukat."  Damar spoke grudgingly, though whether it was because he disliked the task he had been given, disliked Garak, disliked Cardassia under Dominion rule, or simply disliked talking was unclear.

Garak's eyes skittered over to the First.  "With the backing of his new friends."  He turned a slow, incredulous gaze onto Damar.  "Well, _that_ seems like a terrible idea."

"I'm not here to banter with you, Garak," said Damar said testily.

"No, fortunately you've been given a more manageable task."  Garak examined his hands, picking out a spot of dirt from underneath a fingernail.  "It's not so much that I mind your killing me, Damar," he said continued mildly, "but I'll have to protest if you torture me first with Dukat's no doubt egregiously egocentric inauguration speech."

Damar frowned deeply; like most serious individuals, he disapproved of frivolity because the mastery of it eluded him.  He was saved the inconvenience of a reply when the First spoke up.

"You will fight in the ring against my men, as an example for the new prisoners.  You fight until you die.  If you yield or refuse to fight, you die."

Garak merely shrugged, as if it was of no consequence.  He was glad, though, if not exactly grateful – a fight was preferable to the more ignominious end he'd expected.  That left only one thing.  He turned to Damar, demeanour stripped of indifference, eyes adamantine in challenge.  "One thing first. I'm asking you to ensure Tain's body is given a proper burial on Cardassia."

Damar regarded him, giving the request an unhurried consideration.  Finally, he nodded.  "Tain's body will be returned to Cardassia."  He motioned for the guards to take him away, adding with perhaps a glint of pleasure, "But I make no promises for yours."

xxx

He'd been given only a short time to prepare himself, to share a few brief words with Senec, and then with Worf, before he was brought to the pit.  As he stepped in he'd left his grief for Tain, his worries for Cardassia, and his lingering regret over Julian behind.  As he yielded to his fate he felt strangely, ironically, free, reborn.

Now it was almost over.

He had fought and killed five Jem'Hadar.  He stood waiting for the sixth.  It would end soon.  One more opponent, perhaps two, before he wouldn't be able to fight anymore.  His fingers brushed the hidden knife. One last surprise when he had nothing else to give: a knife in their throat then deep in his own, denying them anything they could call a victory.

xxx

_Deyos took a step forward and gave a stiff bow and a fluid smile.  "Today is an auspicious day, Captain Sisko.  A day of joy and celebration!  Today, Cardassia has joined the Dominion."_

Deyos' words hung miasmically in the air.

Sisko inclined his head slightly.  "My congratulations to you both," he said.

Deyos slid his smile out another inch.  "Much obliged, Captain, I'm sure.  It is indeed a glorious day for the Dominion, that we can bring our order into the Alpha quadrant. Perhaps one day others will see our wisdom and join us ... perhaps even the celebrated Federation?"

Sisko did not echo the frowns released by his crew; he kept his face blankly polite.  "That's very kind of you to offer, but we're quite happy as we are."  He paused.  "I can imagine that the two of you have things to discuss, _plans_ to make ... I don't want to keep you.  We'll collect our people and be on our way."

Dukat stood and strutted towards the screen.  "Oh, it's no bother.  In fact, I'd planned I inviting all of you down to the surface for an ... extended visit."

"Some other time, perhaps."

"Oh, but I insist."

"Captain," said Jadzia.  "The Jem'Hadar fighters have locked their weapons on us."

Sisko waited.

A second later, one of the officers on Dukat's ship cried out.  "Gul, I show a dozen Klingon birds of prey uncloaking.  Their weapons are locked on us."

At Dukat's gawping face, Sisko finally allowed himself a smile, not even trying to keep the smugness from it.  "Thank you, but as I said, I don't want to keep you.  I assume your transporter problems are fixed?"

Deyos recovered first.  "Of course, Captain.  And I will be more than happy to go down to the surface myself to ensure everything goes smoothly."

"You're too kind," said Sisko, cutting the signal before Dukat could respond.  He swung around, grinning at the delighted confusion flooding the room.  "Call it a premonition, but something told me we couldn't trust Dukat."

Julian didn't smile with the rest of the crew, but edged towards the turbolift, anxious for the order to depart.  Before Sisko could give it, Odo spoke up.

"Captain", said Odo, "I'd like to go down to the surface as well.  My presence could smooth any lingering tension."

Sisko nodded.  "Take whomever you need. I want our people out of there as quickly as possible."

xxx

Garak wondered if death was the peace promised in his vision and found he could not fault it nor find it in his heart to feel cheated.

His world had narrowed to the confines of the pit.  The only taste left was the taste of blood.  He could smell only sweat and dry dust.  The only sounds that reached his ears were the scuff of feet on sand and the crunch of bone.  He felt nothing but a dry determination, but although his will had not faltered his exhaustion betrayed him.

His right foot slipped.

xxx

Deyos was waiting for them, his smile sterile until he caught sight of Odo, at which point it blossomed into life.  "Founder!" he breathed, "I am honoured by your presence."

"You're welcome," said Odo, awkward, bowing stiffly. "Is everything in order?"

"Of course, Founder, right this way."

As they emerged into the compound, Julian's eyes rushed ahead, scanning for Garak.  His sight was blocked by a crowd of people.  He saw Worf and Martok and made for them, Odo close behind with Deyos at his heels explaining, "Just a bit of entertainment for the troops."

Through a sudden shift in the crowd Julian realised what was happening.  He pushed through the mob of people, Elim's name on his lips, when a harsh hand arrested his momentum.

"Don't, doctor," growled Martok.  "A lapse in attention could cost him an eye or worse -  I ought to know."

Martok was wild-eyed and drunk on the fight, but he was right.  Julian turned back to assail the Vorta.  "Put a stop to this at once!  All Federation prisoners –"

The Vorta's eyes burned in outrage.  "All _Federation_ prisoners.  Mr. Garak is a _Cardassian_ citizen.  You have _no_ jurisdiction, _no_ claim, _no_ rights where he is concerned."

Julian opened his mouth to argue but stopped as Odo stepped forward between them.  "Doctor," he said.

Julian backed down, reluctantly allowing Martok to pull him away, leaving Odo talking to the Vorta.  Knowing Odo had the best chance of convincing the Vorta did not make the leaving easier.  Heart twisting, he turned back to the ring, barely able to watch, his mind all too quickly enumerating the many injuries, the odds of Garak surviving another five minutes, another ten. 

"He fights well," growled Martok, obviously thinking this would comfort Julian.  "He's bested five of them already."

Worf cast a quick, discerning glance at Julian.  Though also flushed with excitement, he knew enough about humans to understand that Julian did not see the honour, the glory in this kind of death.  Unable to reassure him, and unwilling to offer false hope, he instead passed on the message that Garak had left for him: a stardate and a number, nothing more.

It took Julian less than a second to understand the reference to a set of sonnets – to one in particular - they had discussed on that stardate.  The words whirled through his head, a backdrop to the violence playing out before him. 

_When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,_

_I all alone beweep my outcast state,_

_And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,_

_And look upon myself and curse my fate,_

_Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,_

_Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,_

_Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,_

_With what I most enjoy contented least;_

_Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,_

_Haply I think on thee, and then my state,_

_(Like to the lark at break of day arising_

_From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;_

_For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings_

_That then I scorn to change my state with kings._

 

He saw Garak's foot slip ...

xxx

"I'm afraid I'll have to insist," Odo said, politely of course.

Damar scowled. "And who are you to interfere, Odo?"

Deyos glowered at Damar before bestowing a deferential look of discomfort on Odo.  "I'm sure, Founder, you would agree that it would be highly inappropriate for us to interfere in the internal affairs of Cardassia."

"Certainly, I wouldn't dream of it."

"Well, then ..." said Deyos, brightening.

"Which is why I'm not making this request as a Founder, but as Chief of Security at Deep Space 9.  You may not be aware, but Garak was recently released from prison.  He is still under probation, and he is my responsibility.  He was given permission to accompany the Defiant only on the condition he would return.  It is my job to make sure he does so.  Furthermore," he continued, before Damar could intervene, "As an exile, Cardassia can have no overriding claim on him.  And as allies – which I very much hope we are - we would expect Cardassia to respect our laws and see to it that they are upheld."  Odo felt vaguely ... unclean spinning the truth in such a fashion, in using the Vorta's mistaken view of him as a god to manipulate him, but he saw no other way to save Garak.

"Well," Deyos fawned, "That puts an entirely different perspective on it.  Of course we're all friends and allies, aren't we Damar?" 

Damar turned a disgusted look on him.  It wouldn't have mattered what the shape shifter had said; Deyos had been slavering for an opportunity to appease him.  Damar had a strong inclination to just shoot them all and be done with it.  He hated the Vorta, hated their new association, but ... he was loyal to Dukat, and Dukat had said they must placate them.  For now.  "Do whatever you want," he snapped, and stalked off petulantly. 

"Well!" Deyos huffed.  "Certainly not the behaviour one would – "

"If you wouldn't mind, Deyos," Odo interrupted,  "I'd like the prisoner to be _alive_ when I take him back."

"Oh, of course, Founder, of course, forgive me."  Deyos moved quickly to the pit and raised his voice.  "Stop the match!" 

xxx

As he slipped, Garak braced himself as the Jem'Hadar pulled back his arm to strike -  then watched the same arm hesitate, the guard's attention caught by something outside of the ring. Garak didn't make the same mistake.  He lashed out, breaking the Jem'Hadar's leg and - when his opponent fell forward - breaking his neck.

The body slumped to the ground, and he slumped over it, resting while he could.  He didn't look up to see what had cost his opponent his life. It didn't matter. 

A moment later he heard the sound of approaching footsteps and raised his head defiantly and saw not death, not another Jem'Hadar, but Julian.  He blinked his eyes, only to find that Julian was there, beside him, warm hands reaching out while Martok pounded congratulations on hisback while Worf ineffectively tried to contain the general's enthusiasm.

The surrealness washed over him. He thought he must be hallucinating, or dead ... but then he wouldn't hurt so much, would he?  It didn't matter.  Nothing mattered.  Whatever it was, it was over.  He let himself be carried away by the insistent waves of darkness breaking over his consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poem is Sonnet 29, written by William Shakespeare.


	18. Conversations

An undignified grunt escaped Garak as he rose his left arm another half an inch.  According to Julian, he had to keep doing these guls-awful exercises if he wanted to regain full motion in his arm, a full 25 a day.   The small increase in height intensified the ache into an agony of what felt like ground bone grating against his shoulder.  A moment later, he let his arm fall, too emotionally and physically drained to push any more against the pain; he'd barely managed to do five.

He felt the creeping despair that had been doggedly invading him since his return gain more ground.  He surveyed his unkempt quarters with a weary disgust.  His breakfast lay uneaten on the table in sad company with the congealed remains of his dinner.  Half-started books lay in an uninviting heap on the table, a handful having fallen, neglected, onto the floor.  Unanswered messages blinked accusingly on the comm unit.  The crumpled blankets on his bed spoke to his uneven, uneasy attempts at rest. 

His body felt as jumbled and uncared for as his quarters, though to all outward appearances – save the more severe signs of exhaustion that he was unable to conceal – he looked as composed and collected as ever.  Julian would have known, would have seen the reality behind the facade, but he had kept Julian away, pleading for a need for time alone.   

It was not a lie, exactly, it was only that he didn't know what it was he needed, whether it was to grieve or to recover or to adjust or any other of those Federation-lauded ideas; he only knew that he needed something, desperately, and that whatever it was eluded him.

As always, when he let his mind loose, it was submerged in a cacophony of images: Tain, the visions, Brel and Senec, the camp, his ill-timed succession, Dukat's treachery, the Jem'Hadar's fists, pain, the blurry days that followed, hyposprays, Julian hovering, the constant beeping of monitors, the well-meaning but unwelcome visitors, Martok belabouring the details of the fight, insisting Garak show him a particular move he had admired.  Too much.  Too many changes, too many losses. 

He'd escaped the infirmary as soon as he was able to walk, locking himself away in his room thinking it would make him feel better, but it hadn't, not really. 

His mind yawed under the weight of his memories, tilting first towards Tain and the final whisper of approval he'd received when Tain had  handed him the succession.  He recalled his final words with Senec, his exhortations to watch Dukat, his relinquishment of the pendant.  He had done what he could, protected the Order as best he could for that brief moment when he had held it in his hands, but now ... what did he owe Tain now?

Then there was Julian, and the delicate, unlikely bond they were somehow building, the type of bond he'd never been allowed to dream of, that he couldn't feel he deserved.  He knew he should have told Julian about Tain before; if he had been killed, Julian would at least have understood why, but now ... what could he tell Julian now?

Nothing lay within reach; he had let everything go.  When he'd descended into the pit he'd given up all hopes, all expectations, all worries, all fears, all responsibilities, all connections.    Now he knew neither how to be who he'd been nor to become someone new.

And so he foundered, rudderless, stuck in old habits, sunk in old lessons, clinging to the crumbling remnants of his old life, drowning in sight of the shore.

He stood, as he often had over the past few days, staring at the distant glint of Cardassia as it drifted away in the station's slow orbit.  The sight of it, as always, brought its clutter of emotions: the initial joy that slipped into leaden emptiness, the longing, the guilt towards himself, the resentment towards Tain, the weary and restless frustration at his uselessness.  Running underneath it all was the current of loneliness that always tempted him. 

It had been so long. 

The despair, the desperation, drove him forward.  Before he could falter, he typed in the rarely used but never forgotten number.  He waited, stomach tight as a twisted screw, wondering if he'd made a mistake.  She'd always made it clear where her sympathies lay, her loyalty to Tain never suffering the doubts that his own had endured.  He wondered if Tain's death would change anything between them.

Her surprise was evident, manifesting in the tightening of her ever-present, somehow comforting frown. 

"Mila."  The word spoken as much as an entreaty as a greeting.

"Elim.  I can't say I ever expected to hear from you again."

"I know, I ... " He realised suddenly he didn't know how to say it, how to mention Tain without prompting an unwarranted hope.   Usually he spoke to obscure rather than reveal, to chafe rather than comfort.  Mila, though, could always read his unspoken thoughts, better than Tain ever could.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

Garak nodded, throat suddenly tight.

"Were you with him?"

"Yes."  Garak realised there was nothing more he could offer her.  She had loved Tain, he knew that, and he knew that she grieved, but her name had not passed Tain's lips; he had no message, no comfort to give.

She took it with a stoic dignity, as she had taken all of Tain's meagre acknowledgments.  "Thank you for letting me know."

He saw her hand move to end the transmission.  "Mila .... _Mother ..._ wait."  The word was foreign but warm on his tongue; he hadn't called her that, by Tain's insistence, in how long?  Only now did he realise how much Tain had meant it to sever, to damage, their connection. 

She looked at him uncertainly. then softened at the beseeching look in his eyes.  "How are you, Elim?"  There was a certain awkward stiffness in her question, she too having lived under Tain's watchful gaze, she too feeling his shadow cast over them.  

"Not ... well," Garak admitted.  He remembered what he had learned from Joseph, from Julian.   _Just start, Elim, just say how you're feeling._ He took a steadying breath.  "I miss him. Isn't that ridiculous? After everything? You would think I would be glad but there's just this .... this hole."

She relaxed under his admission.  "I understand, believe me. He was a charismatic man. When he chose to he could make you feel like no one else could. And he was brilliant , mesmerising."

Yes, Garak reflected, Tain had been all that. 

She continued, "You were important to him, you know.  You were," she insisted, as Garak shook his head.  "I don't know if he was capable of love, of love that wasn't twisted in some way.  I used to wonder if he were like that as a child or if someone made him that way."  She gave a phlegmatic shrug. "I never found out.  He never let me get too close, especially after you were born."

"I'm sorry.  I can't have – my being there can't have made things easier for you."

She shrugged again.  "I almost didn't have you. I sometimes wondered if I made the right choice; it wasn't fair to you to be raised like that."

"You did what you could," he said, unsure if it were true or not, wanting it to be.  "It wasn't so bad, not all the time.  You used to make me that rigonberry pie, remember?"

"Elim," she said, suddenly sounding fretful, "Don't be like him. You were always so full of love. Don't lock it away. Don't keep people out."

Garak felt all the weight that had been pressing on him the past few weeks, the past few days.  The confession that had been sitting heavy in his mind escaped him.  "I don't know if I can.  Sometimes, I don't know, sometimes I feel like I'm losing myself."

"You mean losing who Tain wanted you to be. You were never that person, Elim, let it go.  You can't find your footing on broken ground; you've got to clear a space to stand."

xxx

The conversation had left Garak both more grounded and lighter than he had felt in long while, small shoots of hope optimistically breaking through the layers of despair.  If nothing else, he at least felt more prepared to face whatever it was that was now awaiting him in Sisko's office.

He had received a peremptory summons to a meeting with Sisko and Starfleet Intelligence - a meeting to which Julian had not been invited.  He could have refused to go, but a combination of curiosity over their motives and desire to escape his own thoughts compelled him to accept.

No one paid him any mind as he walked through Ops, nor even as he approached Sisko's office and stepped inside.

Garak reigned in his disbelief as a moronically smiling Sloan advanced on him, hand thrust out stiffly.

"Mr. Garak?  Why, of course it is.  I'm John Rutherford, with Starfleet Intelligence. Call me John.  I'm pleased to meet you at last - your reputation precedes you, you know."

He took the hand reluctantly.  Sloan, Garak reflected, was clearly enjoying himself.  "I'm flattered.  Have you need of a tailor, then?" 

Sloan laughed tolerantly.  " A tailor, ha!  Well, of course a man's got to have a face to show the world, but there's no need for games here, I'm sure."

"Ah, but there's always a game, Jim."

Sloan's eyes twinkled at him. "I can see you're a player, Mr. Garak."

Garak shrugged, annoyed with the charade.  "Perhaps.  Aren't we all?"

Sisko watched the volley from his chair, saying nothing and missing nothing.  Sloan slid over into the empty seat on the other side of the desk and lay back, at his ease. "Then let me put all the cards on the table.  I've got Cardassia allied with Dominion, almost inevitable war, and an ex or otherwise Obsidian order operative in a strategic location fraternising with a member of the senior staff.  Not a promising hand, but I like to wait until the last card is played."

"Which is?  I'm all ears, Jack."

Sloan took a deliberately slow drink of water and set his glass down, looking at the drops condensing on the side before looking up at Garak.  "Why, it's really rather simple: either you're with us, or you're against us."

"Nothing is that simple, _Joshua_." A flickering silence, Garak enjoying the unease that touched Sloan's eyes.  "Even if it were – what is it, exactly, that you mean?"  He was gratified when Sloan finally got to the point.

"The internment of citizens of enemy states has a venerable history, and for good reason."

To Garak's surprise, and to Sloan's as well apparently, Sisko intervened.  "I'll be more than happy to throw Garak in the brig," he said, addressing Sloan, " _when_ he's been convicted of a crime.  Not because he's Cardassian."

"Captain –" Sloan began.

"No, Mr. Rutherford or whatever your name is.  You listen to me. I agreed to ask Mr. Garak to work with us. I did not agree and will not condone his being bullied or threatened."

Garak decided it wasn't a judicious time to remind Sisko about when he'd all but blackmailed Garak to get them into Cardassian space to rescue Kira.  He'd never held it against him, and besides, it was fascinating to see Sisko doing his protective thing for _him,_ on _his_ behalf.

Sisko turned to Garak. "I won't insult your intelligence. You know what we want - your skills, yes, your efforts, yes, but also your knowledge of Cardassia. We want the Dominion out of the Alpha quadrant.  I think you do too.  You would report directly to me."

Sloan's disagreement was obvious, but he said nothing.  Garak looked back and forth between them. "I suppose you'll give me a few days to consider?"

"Of course."  Sisko stood, signalling the end of the meeting.

"Could I have a word with Mr. Garak alone?"

Sisko glanced at Garak, then nodded and left the office.

"Captains!" Sloan growled as the door whisked closed. "They're bloody little autocrats, the lot of them.  They have no appreciation of the bigger picture!"

Garak leaned back against the desk.  "Then why even bother with the pretense of Starfleet Intelligence, _John_? Why go through them at all?"

"I don't usually, but you'll need to stay on the station, and you'll need to be given access and kept in the loop.  That won't happen easily without Sisko's involvement."

"Assuming I choose to accept your kind offer."

"We both know you've no choice."

Garak inched closer.  "Tread carefully, Joshua."

"This isn't about me threatening you," Sloan huffed.  "This is about getting rid of the Dominion, and we both know you want to be part of that.  It _would_ be just like you to refuse, merely to make a point. Tain always did say you were so stubborn you'd cut off your nose to spite your face."

"Not in such colorful language, I'm sure. You know he's dead?"

"Yes.  I'm sorry for it.  I always rather liked the old toad."  He straightened up.  "Well, it's been pleasant catching up, but I've got to run.  It'll be good working with you."

" _If_ I accept, I'll be working with Sisko – not you."

Sloan smiled.  "It's the same thing in the end."


	19. A Step Forward

Julian checked the chronometer; his lunch hour was nearly over. He was eating alone in his office, trying not to spill anything as he hunched over his computer terminal reading up on mitochondrial infections. He knew that avoiding the Replimat out of fear of running into Garak (and having Garak think he'd purposely arranged it) was a bit extreme, but he was attempting to respect Garak's request for space.  He knew that Garak's worlds had been spun out of his control – he only hoped that the distance he was putting between them could later be bridged.    Julian felt as if he were perched on a precipice, hand outstretched,  imploring Garak to reach out to him.  If he didn't...

Julian wasn't prepared to accept that outcome. 

He'd tried to explain his feelings to Jadzia.  He had likened Garak to a challenging piece of art that shifted every time you looked at it, revealing new facets, new depths.  Jadzia had laughed and admitted she didn't find the idea attractive.

"Look at who I'm closest to, Julian - Ben , Kira , Worf - they're not only people who value directness and honesty but need it and insist on it even when they know it's going to cause a firestorm. I have a harder time with people who won't say what they mean, who say nothing at all, or worse, who tie it all up in knots.  For a joined Trill there's always all this confusion inside, all these disparate voices - I think that's why Dax likes things to be straight forward.  Whereas you ..."

"Whereas I like things as complicated and tangled as possible," Julian laughed back.

His reminiscence was interrupted by a comm from Nurse Lai.

"Sorry to disturb you, doctor, but there's a patient here to see you.  Are you available?"

"Yes, of course. I'll be right out."

He jammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and gulped down the last of his tea, then threw his dishes into the reclamation unit.  He wondered at the slight hesitation in Nurse Lai's voice – it indicated either an unusual patient or an unusual request.  Julian wasn't sorry – treating the usual fare of sprains and chills didn't tax his brain nearly enough to keep him from fretting, and an unusual case might be just what he needed.

Unusual didn't begin to describe it.    

"Doctor, thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"You're ... welcome?" Julian said as Garak walked past him and into his office.  Julian snapped his mouth shut and followed him warily, closing the door behind him.  "What's going on? Why are you here? Are you alright?"

Garak gave him a tired smile.  "I'm fine, Julian.  I just ... thought I should follow my doctor's advice and tell him when I'm in pain and see if he can help."

Julian's anxiety eased, though only marginally.  "I'm sorry, that's good, I just – well, I don't expect to see you in here unless you're nearly dying."  _Are you?_

Garak quirked an eye ridge.  _No._   "I thought I would – what was that expression?  Turn over a new page?"

"Leaf.  Although the word leaf in the expression actually refers to a page, so you're more or less right.  It's one of those old sayings where the original meaning of the words has gone off."  Julian cleared a few  stray research PADDs from the examination chair as he rambled on, granting himself a moment to regain his bearings.  "Here, sit down."  Once Garak had taken his seat, Julian sat as well, in the chair opposite, not wanting to seem as if he were putting Garak on an unequal footing.  "Tell me what's going on," he said softly. 

"It's the headaches; they've been getting worse," Garak admitted. 

Julian noticed he was squinting slightly and reduced the lights, then lifted his hand and ran his thumb thoughtfully along Garak's brow.  "You don't have a fever.  Is the pain in a different location? Does it feel different?  Last longer?"

"No, they're much the same, just more frequent."

Julian had been present for several of Garak's migraines, but Garak had never been forthcoming about their severity, duration nor frequency.  He didn't know if this sudden impulse to honesty stemmed from desperation or a genuine desire to change; Julian was fearful it was the former and hardly dared hope it was the latter.  "How often were you having them before, compared to now?" he asked.

"They started shortly after you removed the implant."  Garak admitted, tensing his shoulders as if readying for a rebuke.  Julian waited patiently for him to continue, and after a moment he relaxed.  "It wasn't too bad, at first; I was averaging maybe one every month or so.  I didn't notice the increase in frequency immediately, for the last year or so I've had one every two or three weeks, on a fairly regular schedule until now."

"And now?" Julian prompted.

"It's ... been pretty bad since we got back.  I've had an attack every day, sometimes multiple attacks in the same day."

Julian frowned, swallowing down his concern.  _It's okay.  He's here.  He's asking for help.  I can help him._   "I'm just going to check a few things."  He moved his hands gently over Garak's head.  "Do you feel any pain where I'm touching you?"

"No, in fact, it feels rather nice."

Julian flicked a quick smile at him but kept focused on his work.  He thought he knew the cause, but he wanted to be sure.  He checked for the usual culprits: infection, high blood pressure, bleeding or increased pressure inside the eyes or head, swollen or tender glands, stiff muscles coupled with limitation of movement.  Garak sat still, unnaturally obedient and stiff, as Julian completed the examination.  When he was done, Julian sat back and pulled up an image of the screen.

"This is the most likely cause," he said, pointing out the area on the scan.  " It's a buildup of scar tissue around the implant.  That explains the increasing frequency, which has been exacerbated by the beating you took in the ring."

"From six opponents, I might point out, all of whom I beat."

"I didn't mean to impugn your honour," Julian teased.

"Hmmph, honour." Garak hesitated, and Julian caught the faint worry in his voice when he asked, "Can you do anything about them?"

"Yes, almost certainly.  I can heal a lot of the damage with a fairly simple procedure.  That would certainly reduce the frequency and perhaps the severity, though it's unlikely to eliminate them completely.  There are certain drugs –"

"No drugs."

"I'm not advocating you take them, Elim, but I do want you to have all of the information."  At Garak's acquiescence, he continued.  "There are certain drugs that, if taken at the onset of an attack, might help lessen its severity and duration.  The main side effect is drowsiness, though some species experience nausea as well.  If you ever decide you want to try them, I can give you all the specifications.  Okay?"

Garak nodded.  "All right.  This other procedure, what does it involve?"  His unease, hitherto dormant, began to rouse itself at the thought of instruments and treatments.

"Very little.  And we can start now if you're ready."  When Garak didn't answer immediately, Julian looked up, concerned.  "Elim?"

Garak shook his head, Mila's words urging him forward.  _Don't keep people out._ "Sorry.  It's just ..."

"Just?" Julian encouraged.

"I don't like infirmaries.  Or medical procedures.  They make me anxious.  They have, ever since – and they remind me of other things, too, and –"

"It's all right," Julian reassured him, taking his hand and giving it a squeeze.  "Would it help if I explained?"  Julian rummaged around for his instrument, then held it out to Garak.  "It's similar to a dermal regenerator, designed to clear up small internal damage." 

Garak turned the small tool over in his hand.  "I see," he said, feeling silly.  "I must apologise for the overreaction, doctor."

"Elim, you never need to apologise to me for your feelings."

"I won't," Garak replied.  Then – seeing Julian's skeptical look – rolled his eyes dramatically.  "I _promise_ , Julian.  Now, what do you need me to do?"

"Just to hold very still."  Julian calibrated the instrument and carefully directed the beam.  After ten silent minutes, during which he made minute shifts to the placement of Garak's head, he sat back, pleased.

"There.  Now, we'll need to repeat that twice a week for the three months, all right?  But you should start to see an improvement right away.  In the meantime ..."  Julian hesitated, trying to remind himself _not to push_ , but he couldn't help himself.  "In the meantime, perhaps it would be helpful if you let someone look after you for a bit?"  Julian bit back the anxiety in his voice as he waited for Garak's response.  When Garak agreed it was a good idea, the relief gushed out of Julian and he blundered forward.  "I could close up a little early.  I'm owed rather a lot of hours.  I mean, if you, if it's me -"

Garak interrupted him fondly.  "I'd like that too."

"Good."  Julian heaved out a relieved sigh.  "Just, give me a half hour or so, okay?"

Julian wasn't quite as good as his word.  It was a nearly an hour before he appeared at Garak's door.  The reason was obvious, laden as he was.

"What is all this?" Garak demanded, suspiciously barring Julian's entry.

"Supplies," Julian huffed, as if it were obvious.

"Supplies?  For what?" Garak asked, peering into the box.

"For my inner nurturer, which you have repressed for the past few weeks.  I've got scented scale oil, and some of your favourite foods, and that new piece of music from Cocekki that you wanted to hear, and -"

"Julian, you don't have to -"

Julian put a hand out, laying it flat on Garak's chest, shushing him.  "Please let me do this, Elim."

"Well," said Garak, surveying Julian's eagerness, letting it melt his lingering hesitation.  "If you want to coddle me, I should try to enjoy it, shouldn't I?"

And he opened the door.


	20. Endings and Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after the episode The Begotten, in which Kira gives birth to Yoshi and Odo discovers an infant Changeling. While caring for it, he comes to terms with his own father-figure, Dr. Mora. The infant dies, but in doing so dissolves into Odo and he is able to change shape once again.

"Everything that once existed, exists now.  Everything that shall exist, exists now.  It is only our vision that is limited, not our beings."

With these words, Sisko concluded the Bajoran Ceremony of Endings.  The ceremony had been arranged by Kira, following the death of the infant Changeling, and the holosuite was filled with solemn grey stone, pale candles, muted black drapes and the small group of people whom Odo considered friends.

As the words faded, the sombre stillness of the ceremony began to give way to normality, silence broken by small whispers, stiff backs gratefully stretched.  Garak remained still, partly as a point of pride (his training had prepared him for long periods of immobility; _he_ had not fidgeted during the ceremony), and partly out of reluctance to relinquish the tranquility the ritual had afforded him.  He was unsure of his beliefs, either heretical Bajoran Prophets or proscribed Hebetian deities, but felt disinclined to dwell on beliefs, or doubts.  For now, he was content to savour the calm that for once was reflected within in as well as around him.

He noticed Odo alone by the well and assumed the others had not approached out of either respect or awkwardness, or both.  He walked over quietly and stood beside him, staring down into the black, oilskin smoothness of the water.  They stood in silence for some minutes before Odo gently broke it.

"I didn't think I'd like it – the ceremony – and yet, I found it strangely ..."

Garak glanced at him.  "Comforting?"

Odo looked uncomfortable, giving a strangely fluid shrug, as if he had not yet readjusted to his returned state.  "Yes.  I can't really explain it."

"It was kind of the Major to think of it."

Odo huffed a laugh.  "I'm glad you're getting along better with Dr. Bashir as well," he replied, at once understanding the unspoken observation. 

Pleased with the response, Garak broached the other question on his mind.  "Dr. Mora didn't come back for the ceremony?"

Odo shook his head.  "No, he was unable to.  We ... talked about it, though.  I'm glad, to have forgiven him.  I don't think I would have so easily, before I'd found myself in need of it from others." 

Garak followed his gaze, to where Kira was talking to Sisko.  She caught Odo's eye, gave him a small smile, and left Sisko. 

"My people do not forgive easily," Garak remarked as he watched her approach.  "Nor do the Bajorans."

"Perhaps," said Odo, "But nobody values anything that's given too freely."

"Odo, Garak," said Kira as she came up.

"Major," said Garak.  "I appreciate your allowing me to participate; I know having a Cardassian present is ... unusual.  I wonder if I might ask a further favour?  With your permission, I'd like to stay here for awhile longer."

Kira studied him curiously, stamping down the suspicion that struggled to assert itself.  She managed a polite nod.  "Of course."

Odo's looked at Garak thoughtfully, but he changed the subject instead of commenting.  "Kira is going to help me redo my quarters.  It's time I readjusted to being a Changeling."

"Of course."  Garak gave them a polite bow as they left.  There was no one else left in the holosuites, save Julian, who had obviously been waiting for him. 

"Elim?  Are you ready to go?"

"I'd like to stay for a bit.  I'd like you to stay with me, too.  There's something I've been meaning to do for some time, but I haven't felt ready until now."

"It has to do with Tain, doesn't it?"

Garak looked at him appraisingly.  "Very astute of you, my dear."

"I know he was important to you, and I know how much his death has affected you.  I wasn't sure what you would want, if anything.  The public feasting and speeches are described at length in several of the novels you've given me, but they only ever allude to the private rituals.  What is it that's done?"

"It varies, from family to family.  There was nothing Tain would have wanted me to do, but ... there is something, an old ritual, that I'd like to observe."

"Tell me what to do."

Together, under Garak's direction, they rearranged the room, marking out an area next to the well where they put a newly lit candle and a stone basin.  Garak pulled a small, black knife from his tunic, its sharpness twisting in the candle's light.  "It's customary to cut yourself," he explained, "To demonstrate the pain you feel from the loss.  It's customary to bear the scar as well, in remembrance."

Julian nodded.  He didn't necessarily like the idea of Elim acquiring yet another scar, but he could understand the importance of the ritual.  "Where do you cut yourself?" he asked.

"It depends on the person's relation to you.  For your mother, you cut your right hand; for your father, your left.  For a spouse, you would cut both of your cheeks, and for your children, the ridge over your heart.  There are specific spots for every relation, even down to fifth and sixth cousins."

"What about friends, other people who are important to you?"

"You would determine an equivalent relationship, and cut just above that point.  If the person were like a sibling, you would cut just above the shoulder.  For a mentor, who is like a parent, you cut your forearm – right for a female, left for a male."

"Is there anything you need me to do?"

"Yes.  Your role is to cleanse the area first – I imagine this was initially practiced for hygiene as much as symbolism – and to bind the wound after.  You can replicate what you need, but no dermal regenerator."

Julian went and ordered a scentless sanitizer and clean bandages from the replicator.  When he returned, Garak had peeled off his shirt and stood heating the knife in the flame.  Julian stood beside him.  "Is there a particular way I should cleanse the area?" he asked.

"No," Garak replied, with a faint smile at Julian's earnestness.  He held out his left arm and Julian gently but thoroughly cleansed his forearm.  When he pulled back, Garak left his arm out.  Julian looked at him questioningly.  "Tain ... wasn't just my mentor, Julian," he said softly.

Julian's lips parted in surprise.   Fragments of memories cut free, then crystallised.  It all made sense now; he could only marvel at his blindness at not seeing it before.  Sadness came with understanding, which was then overshadowed by a fierce love and gratitude that Garak had chosen to confide in him.  Determined to do him proud, he pressed his lips together, keeping his emotions to himself as he instead reached out to cleanse Garak's left hand.

Garak watched him appreciatively, pride shining in his eyes.  When Julian was done, Garak stretched his hand out over the basin,  Slowly, he recited the old Hebetian words, relishing the rounded way they rolled off his tongue.  He held up the knife for a second, then quickly, expertly, slashed a wide arc across his palm.  He watched the soft blood well from the wound, watched it drip and fall, mesmerised by the red ribbons it made as it twisted in the water.   

Julian, beside him, waited tensely.  At Garak's nod, he surged forward, holding Garak's hand tenderly as he cleaned and bandaged the wound. 

Garak sighed and sagged a bit, letting Julian gather him into his arms.  "He wasn't much of a father," he said, face huddled in Julian's neck, "But he was all I knew."

Julian could understand.  "You loved him."

"Yes, although it wasn't a healthy love.  How could it be, when it was born out of desperation?"

Julian squeezed him firmly.  "That doesn't change how you felt, how you feel."

"No.  But I think ... I'm finally ready to move on."  He pulled back so he could look at Julian.   "Did you know that Kardasi has two concepts for forgiveness?  The first is more aligned with the meaning in Standard, forgiving someone so that you can rebuild the relationship.  The second is more centred on the self.  I don't forgive Tain for what he did, but I'm ready to accept that he was who he was, and to let whatever hate, whatever love, I was holding onto, go."

Julian reached out to run the back of his hand over Garak's cheek.  "I'm here for you, for whatever you need."

Garak tipped his head forward, to rest his forehead against Julian's.  "You've already given me more than enough, Julian, more than I deserve."  Garak marveled at the direction of his life over the last month; it was as if he'd climbed out of a deep pit into the sun.  He'd thought opening up to Julian would make him feel trapped, not freed. 

He would have to thank Mila, next time he spoke to her.  Their conversations were becoming more comfortable and more frequent.  He'd worried slightly over the risk, but she had scoffed at him, rightly reminding him who it was who had taught him how to encrypt messages.    

"What are you thinking about?" Julian prompted.

"Hmmm?  Food, actually.  Apparently grieving stimulates the appetite."  He would tell Julian about Mila soon, maybe even introduce them over the comm, but he wanted to keep the relationship, new and fragile as it was, to himself for awhile.  Coupled with his conversations with Joseph, and the presence of Julian and Ziyal, Garak was beginning to feel, for the first time, as if he had a family.

"Uh huh," Julian remarked, unconvinced but confident Elim would tell him when he was ready.  "Well, there'll be plenty of food at Yoshi's party.  Provided you're still up for it, of course."  It was the Bajoran tradition to follow a Ceremony of Endings with a Ceremony of Beginnings, as they saw them as part of the same circle. 

"I am," Garak replied, tightening his arms around Julian, "Though I wouldn't say no to a short _rest_ in our quarters first ... "

They were fashionably late to the party.

Jadzia greeted them warmly, Worf politely.  Garak bowed back with equal politeness, enjoying the scowl on Worf's face as he tried to work out whether or not Garak was mocking him.  Garak wondered if he'd ever be able to get Worf to smile at him, given twenty years or so.  He doubted.   

"You are going to be working for the Federation," Worf announced, as if Garak were unaware of the fact, his eyebrows pulled tightly together in consternation.

"Yes, indeed.  What better way to feed information back to the Dominion?" Garak smirked.  He deftly dodged the elbow Julian tried to lodge into his side.

"He's _joking,"_ Julian said.  Privately, he was elated; Garak working for the Federation took away any threat Starfleet Intelligence had held over them and, though there was the added worry of Sloan, he and Garak had decided that between themselves, Sisko, and Odo they could run rings around Section 31.

Their conversation was cut short by Sisko, who was once again presiding over the (thankfully shorter and happier) ceremony.   Beyond a few words and blessings, it consisted of passing of the baby around from person to person, as a sign of welcome and promised support from the community. 

This generated a fair amount of laughter and applause.  Worf, manfully fulfilling his duty, looked stiff and pained.  Martok, on the other hand – an old pro – tossed the baby around alarmingly.  Jadzia cooed over him, while Sisko held him with practiced ease.  Julian laughed along with the others – until Miles bundled the baby abruptly into his arms.

"Here y'go, Julian." said Miles.

"Oh, uh," Julian stammered, Yoshi flopping alarmingly in his arms.    

Garak laughed.  "Don't you do this as part of your job?"

"Not as often as I'd like," said Julian.  "The nurses get to do most of the well-baby check ups."  Experimentally, he hitched Yoshi up onto his shoulder, only to be rewarded with an unhappy wail.   "Like you'd do any better."

"Let 'im try," said Miles, expertly grabbing Yoshi and shuttling him over.  To Julian's surprise, Garak tucked Yoshi expertly into the crook of his arm, and Yoshi settled down immediately.

"Elim Garak, where on earth did you learn how to hold a baby?'

"Did I never tell you about the time I worked as a nanny on Andor?  A large family, with two sets of triplets, if you can believe it.  I was very fond of them; alas, I had to leave.  Far too cold." 

"I don't believe you," Julian laughed.

"Maybe the two of you could babysit sometime," Miles said, eyeing Garak with the predacious calculation common to exhausted new parents galaxy-wide.   "Get Garak to show you the ropes."

"I agree," said Sisko.  "Who knows?  It might be good preparation for the future."

"Uh .." said Julian.

Garak arched an eye ridge.  "Are you speaking as a nostalgic father, Captain, or as the Emissary?"

Sisko winked.  "Maybe both."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End! Thank you to everyone who has read and to those who have encouraged me with kudos and comments over the months this fic has taken to write.
> 
> If you enjoyed it, please let me know and let others know as well! I honestly don't know if I'm going to ever write another long fic again - if I do, it will either be one more in this series (a little bit of angst but a happy ending for all) or something altogether different and altogether fluffier. If you want to see either of those options, please do let me know. Who knows? If there's a lot of interest I might dredge up the energy for one more :)

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this work comes from the eponymous poem by W.H. Auden
> 
> For new chapter updates, new works and thoughts on fanfiction, follow me on Tumblr (@zaan-zaan)
> 
> Like it? Let me know!


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